The heat in Erling's chest had stopped being heat.
It was pressure now, three hard points behind his breastbone pushing outward, and each stride drove them a little deeper. Erling had stopped being able to take a full breath somewhere back in the middle of the Frozen Forest. He took half of one, and then half of another, and his legs went on doing what he told them because he had no other choice.
Behind him, Khorijin had changed her rhythm.
Before, she'd been careful. She wouldn't take a shot unless it affected him in some way. Now, she was taking risks. Not that she missed her target. Just as Milo had warned him, the archers of the Southern Steppe didn't miss.
But given the choice between an Ice Fruit that was guaranteed to envelop him in a flurry of snow and one that might shred him with a storm of icy shards, she chose the shards.
