The world stopped blurring.
White Feather's talons opened, and Lady Ilse and Brunhilde dropped the last few feet onto packed snow, stumbling but upright. I slid off her neck a moment after, my legs nearly folding under me the second they touched ground.
That was when the cold hit. Not the snow, it was the empty feeling behind my ribs, like someone had scraped out the inside of a bowl. My essence reserves were somewhere south of "low" and heading toward "concerning."
It was as though, all the injury finally decided to start registering now.
A dark keep rose in front of us, half-swallowed by drifts, its walls black with old fire damage that the snow hadn't bothered to forgive. And spilling out of its broken gate—
The sound of steel was almost deafening. It was a clash that refused to pipe down. And along with this terrifying clangor of still was the thrashing of the snow. Even the walls of the keep shuddered, threatening to spill over as something repeated hit it.
