Rayadell blinked at Calanon in surprise, before shaking her head and walking into the woods as his attention turned to Brogach. Even [i]she[/i] had passed through a carnival or two in her travels.
	When she returned to their clearing, Calanon mounted the elk as if in answer to her question. She strode toward the odd pair, ever cautious of the animal from years of conditioning. She hesitated a couple feet away, and her gaze shifted from animal to elf.
	Despite traveling so closely for so long the previous day, he showed no obvious signs her curse was draining him. Yet. 
	She took a breath, debating on if even entertaining the idea of traveling via elk a second day in a row was worth the risk it may pose to Calanon. Or even, for all she knew with her little experience around animals, the elk.
	But they were waiting, and the mountains calling, the very air around her whispering the promise of fresher mountain breezes. Besides, the sooner they got to their destination, the sooner she may be capable of [i]breaking[/i] her curse. Exhaling, she closed the remaining distance between them and mounted the elk behind Calanon. Holding her staff so it would not hinder the animal’s stride, she held onto him with her free hand as the elk darted forward.
	Around the gentle rush of the wind tugging at her hair and threatening to reveal her mark to the woods, she focused on the sound of both the elk and Calanon’s breaths, listening for any unexplainable variations. She watched their smallest movements, paying attention to the elk’s speed to be sure it remained consistent. If the curse decided to begin to sap their strength, she would know.
	At least, she [i]hoped[/i] she would.
	As they entered the mountain pass, Rayadell broke from her diligent watch to look up to the peaks of the mountains. The sun made the points look deceptively warm, but the snow drizzled over the mountains a couple miles up like glittering icing shone the truth on the sun’s lies. 
	Rayadell took a breath and closed her silvery eyes. She had avoided the mountains for so long. Her grip tightened on her staff. Even here, in the narrowest pass of this smaller range, excitement and belonging mixed with regret and disgrace inside her at the reminder the risen earth created.
	They entered a grove of pine trees surrounding the narrowing path, their needles adorned with beads of morning dew. No sooner had they passed between their trunks than what felt somewhere between nature’s version of gossip and a warning reverberated through the trees and brushed against her mind.
	She inhaled and her eyes snapped open. A few members of the Promixtra—a group of notorious thieves, bandits, and murderers that cared only about skill, not race or gender—prowled these woods.
	“Calanon!” Her voice low and urgent in his ear, she moved her hand to his shoulder as they sped through the trees. “There are—”
	Before she could pass on the warning, a large ball of rock and fur rolled from the trees onto the path a couple yards ahead of them. Reaching the middle of the trail in the blink of an eye, it unrolled into a stocky man clad in furs and rock-like armor. He blocked their path, a massive, stained battle ax held threateningly in either hand, his stance daring them to try barreling past him.