They climbed steadily as dusk bled into night, choosing the higher ridgeline where the ground, though uneven, felt more honest beneath their feet. From this elevation the land unfolded in layered silhouettes, ridges and basins overlapping like scars that never quite aligned.
The air grew denser the farther south they went, not heavier in the lungs but resistant in a subtler way, as if motion itself required a fraction more intent than before. Lindarion felt that resistance immediately and adjusted, not by forcing his way through it but by aligning his steps with the underlying flow, letting the terrain accept him rather than challenge him.
