The northern mountains were exactly as miserable as Grace expected. Cold, gray, and about as welcoming as Zephyr before her morning coffee.
"I hate this already," Grace muttered, wings tucked tight against the biting wind.
Valkyrie didn't respond. Of course she didn't. She'd maintained perfect silence for the entire flight up, broken only by occasional grunts that might've been directions.
Petriel, at least, tried to lighten the mood.
"It's not so bad! The mountain air is supposed to be good for—"
A rock the size of Grace's head tumbled past, missing Petriel by inches.
"—never mind."
They landed in a small village. Not destroyed or corrupted like the others Grace had visited. Just... stopped.
A merchant stood frozen mid-haggle, hand extended with coins that would never change hands. A child hung suspended mid-jump over a puddle that had turned to stone.
[Well, this is new. And creepy. Definitely creepy.]
