Alexander let go of my hand with agonizing slowness, gave a sharp nod to my 'protectors,' and turned his horse.
I watched through the glass as he and his knights galloped back toward the white peaks, a final flick of the leash before the road swallowed us.
The formation now belonged to the 'innocent' boys and the royal guards. Maegel led the way, his dragon-blooded stallion prancing with a royal arrogance he was clearly struggling to maintain as the air began to change.
Julian and Caelum flanked my carriage like twin shields, their postures stiff, their eyes scanning the thickening mist with a protective hunger that was almost suffocating.
As we descended toward the border, the world began to rot. The vibrant whites of the North bled into a sickly, bruised violet.
The trees became skeletal, their bark ashen and peeling, and a low, heavy mist began to crawl across the road like a living thing.
