12 FROST 120
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What they needed to do now was put distance between them and everything else. Distance that also seemed to mean they were getting further and further from the exit. But this was a new route, a different way than she had ever known. The woman could only keep moving. Even if it meant that she was headed toward the depths of this cavernous hell. What was hell, even, in comparison to this? And she was here, all because she’d not opened her mouth to speak when she should have.
Any other time and she would have let loose a string of profanities. She would have cursed his name to every mistlord she could think of, every dragon god that popped into her head. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t have. A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped.
The scarred woman stared down at her. She was at least a head taller. She’d said her name once before, when she was still up for talking and hadn’t fallen into the contemplative silence that had taken them both. Ryia? Feia? It had sounded like the latter one.
“Keep moving.”
She was back to giving orders. Perhaps it had been a moment of the morbid reminder that they still drew breath that had rocked her from her attack of the woman. What it was, Feia had let her glare rest upon the woman before she shoved forward and decided that she would take the lead again. Which was just as well; she didn’t want to lead. Her leading them might have been toward death.
At the very least, Feia had done a good job of at least leading them somewhere with light. She hadn’t been sure if it was just her state of being, or the strain of the situation, but her eyes had begun to join the chorus of parts of her that had ached. The throbbing in her head had grown worse and Jieun’s visage was marred by her distress. A wavy mirage that she unsettled her more than the situation they were in. She shut her eyes now, let the soft glow of fluorescent moss around them soothe her senses.
She had not a clue of where they were, but it was cold. Colder than the forced embrace of a dead body as she wailed. Her eyes flew open. It shouldn’t be cold, no matter how damp and dank this place was. Feia continued on, the woman trailing after her. Her fingers burned — she would have made a song of this at one point. Two brave, foolish wanderers seeking safety in a cursed land. The Warrens might as well have been cursed. But cold? Like this?
Her breath misted in the air and a chill set into her bones.
“Keep moving. I’m not going to wait around for you.”
But she couldn’t.
Something held her in place.
What they needed to do now was put distance between them and everything else. Distance that also seemed to mean they were getting further and further from the exit. But this was a new route, a different way than she had ever known. The woman could only keep moving. Even if it meant that she was headed toward the depths of this cavernous hell. What was hell, even, in comparison to this? And she was here, all because she’d not opened her mouth to speak when she should have.
Any other time and she would have let loose a string of profanities. She would have cursed his name to every mistlord she could think of, every dragon god that popped into her head. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t have. A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped.
The scarred woman stared down at her. She was at least a head taller. She’d said her name once before, when she was still up for talking and hadn’t fallen into the contemplative silence that had taken them both. Ryia? Feia? It had sounded like the latter one.
“Keep moving.”
She was back to giving orders. Perhaps it had been a moment of the morbid reminder that they still drew breath that had rocked her from her attack of the woman. What it was, Feia had let her glare rest upon the woman before she shoved forward and decided that she would take the lead again. Which was just as well; she didn’t want to lead. Her leading them might have been toward death.
At the very least, Feia had done a good job of at least leading them somewhere with light. She hadn’t been sure if it was just her state of being, or the strain of the situation, but her eyes had begun to join the chorus of parts of her that had ached. The throbbing in her head had grown worse and Jieun’s visage was marred by her distress. A wavy mirage that she unsettled her more than the situation they were in. She shut her eyes now, let the soft glow of fluorescent moss around them soothe her senses.
She had not a clue of where they were, but it was cold. Colder than the forced embrace of a dead body as she wailed. Her eyes flew open. It shouldn’t be cold, no matter how damp and dank this place was. Feia continued on, the woman trailing after her. Her fingers burned — she would have made a song of this at one point. Two brave, foolish wanderers seeking safety in a cursed land. The Warrens might as well have been cursed. But cold? Like this?
Her breath misted in the air and a chill set into her bones.
“Keep moving. I’m not going to wait around for you.”
But she couldn’t.
Something held her in place.
