The wind had not stopped since morning.
It came steady bursts, carrying snow that stung their faces and filled the narrow trail ahead. The path twisted upward between cliffs of black stone, each wall slick with frost and gleaming faintly in the pale light.
Edward walked behind Elarien, his boots crunching against the frozen ground. Every breath he took came out as mist. The cold had already numbed his fingers, even through the gloves.
Most of the group had gone quiet, saving their strength for the climb. The only sounds were the soft scrape of boots and the hollow cry of wind echoing between the rocks.
They had rested little after the fight. The elves moved with discipline, but Edward could see the tiredness on their faces. Some still had shallow cuts, others limped slightly, but no one complained.
