Ren pulled her scarf higher. "It's picking up again."
"Yeah," Lira said. "I know a place to stop."
Lindarion's feet kept moving. He didn't look up. Just followed the footprints ahead. Let the cold numb everything but the sound of steps and breath.
He wasn't weak.
But he was tired.
And sometimes that was worse.
He reached for his mana, just a little. Let the warmth slip into his chest like a whisper.
—
The snow didn't let up.
Not for the next few turns. Not for the next five dozen steps. It just kept falling, soft and quiet, like it was trying to cover every trace they'd ever existed.
Lindarion walked in silence.
His boots crunched through the layer of powder with a rhythm that felt too steady to be his. One foot. Then the next. He didn't think about walking anymore.
Just about the little things. The weight of his pack. The way the cold stuck to the underside of his coat. The way his breath barely curled anymore before the wind pulled it away.
