The storm erased everything. The cold wind blew hard across the high pass, wiping out landmarks and turning the mountain into a wall of endless white darkness. Fresh snow covered the ground within minutes, making it look as though no one had traveled the path in days.
Despite the terrible weather, Barek did not slow his horse down. He rode with complete confidence, his eyes locked on the ground ahead. To any other rider, the snowfield looked completely flat and untouched. To Barek, the terrain told a clear story. He saw a snapped pine branch sticking out of a drift, a deep hoofprint that had not yet filled with powder, and a small piece of torn wool cloth caught on a frozen bush. Every single sign pointed in the exact same direction: northeast.
Asarmose rode right beside the tracker, his heavy winter cloak snapping violently behind him in the wind. Caelum followed just a few paces ahead, his posture tense and full of impatient energy.
