The cold crept in again.
Not fast. Not sharp. Just slow enough to pretend it had always been there.
Lindarion rubbed his palms together. The leather of his gloves made a dull sound. Not enough friction to help. Just enough to make his fingers ache a little less. The fire he'd conjured earlier felt like a memory now.
Too small. Too far behind them.
He stood up, legs stiff, and turned his head.
Lira wasn't beside him anymore. Neither was Ren.
Ardan had vanished into the white ahead, probably scouting again. Meren's voice was still echoing faintly from behind the ridge, some curse about his ankle and mountain gods being petty.
'Right. Time to regroup.'
The ledge curved around a cluster of ice-slicked boulders. Not a long walk. But the wind made it feel longer. It hissed through the stones, tugging at his hood, needling down his collar like it had something to prove.
He squinted through the snow. A few dark shapes up ahead. Moving.
