***
We ran.
Nivalis ran through the snow, breath ripping from her lungs in heavy bursts. Arven now awake clung weakly to the saddle, Hana hunched low in front of her, arms wrapped tight around Arven. And me— slung over that woman's shoulder like baggage.
And somehow—
She kept pace.
Not struggling. Not lagging.
Running.
Every few steps, she casually swung her katana forward. No pause. No effort. Just a lazy flick of her wrist— and the trees ahead of us split apart before we ever reached them. Trunks parted. Branches flew. Snow exploded outward as if the forest itself was being pushed aside to make way.
She even yawned.
"She's an ancient dog," she said, voice bored, almost disappointed, "but she's probably the weakest Ursa Canis I've ever seen."
My jaw tightened.
"Slow, too."
I looked at Nivalis.
At her furless body covered in scars. At the way her steps were uneven. At how her breathing rattled.
Weak…?
Then it hit me.
She wasn't sprinting.
