The last ten miles of the Jade Reach were less of a hike and more of a negotiation with gravity. The terrain sloped sharply downward, the dense ironwood forest giving way to a tangled mess of scrub brush and razor-grass that sliced at their clothes.
Mirabelle slid down a muddy embankment, catching herself on a mossy rock. She was breathing hard, her lungs burning from the thick, sulfurous air.
"We're close," she gasped, checking the compass. "The air feels... thinner. Less like soup."
Revas descended behind her. He didn't slide; he simply floated down the last few feet, his boots hovering an inch above the mud. He looked impeccable from the waist up, but his trousers were stained with green sap, and there was a leaf stuck in his white hair.
"I see smoke," Revas announced, pointing a long, pale finger toward the horizon.
