[color=6ecff6]"Morning, Argen, Oscar,"[/color] Katya waved as the former stoked the flames and the latter waddled around like a half-frozen penguin. As the fire got hotter and hotter, they could go boil water for a warming, if not filling, soup again. Katya skipped off for another bath, more for pleasure than for cleanliness, and gradually, the rest of the party woke up as well. Ettamri nursed a bit of a headache, Renauld's little Renauld was still sore, and Muu's scarf had frozen solid last night, forcing the Blade Dancer to squat by the fire and thaw it out. As usual, nothing was really said between the entire party, but the night hadn't been so miserable and everyone got enough sleep to tide them over for the rest of the day. If fortune smiled upon them and Ettamri's vague map was accurate in its approximations of distance, they would reach Fort Stalwart before nightfall. Would be free of their burden. Would even have a proper bed to sleep on. Maybe the soldiers there would throw them a party for delivering such precious goods in such dangerous times?

One could dream, at least.

When Katya returned to the rest of her party, most of the packing up was done. Snow was kicked over the firepit, blankets were patted clean of snow and folded up, the horses were roused from their own chilly slumber, and the party was off once more. With only two nights of experience, they had certainly grown efficient with their packing, or perhaps just stopped caring so much. Marching up the path towards the springs once more, they noted the absence of the orc champion that had been there last night, but other than perhaps a stray comment or observation, nothing else arose from the knowledge. The horses pulled the wagon up higher, and the adventurers' own breaths labored from the upward climb. The snow became more powdery as they got higher up the mountain, and every step they took caused them to slip backwards as well. At one point, the more physically-gifted members of the party had to push the wagon up from behind, just to make sure it didn't roll down backwards while ascending a particularly treacherous forest path. At another time, Muu and Oscar were both forced to scramble up on all fours, being the only members in the party not to have something that could double as a walking stick.

Yet for all those troubles, it was still rather peaceful. Birds, unseen but easily heard, sang their little songs. Snow melted from high branches and dropped like fat bits of birdshit. It was an unusually warm day, as far as winters went, and soon, even Oscar's soreness disappeared.

The mountain they climbed plateaued and, turning back, they could see all the territory that the Empire had managed to hold onto. Andeave, with its great walls, could be seen in the distance, the rough gem of civilization offset by the sheets of ice stretching out from the shore. The forests of the Ranger's reserve were pristine as always, great pines like white needles standing proud upon the mountain. Plumes of smoke rose up from the western quarters of the city as well, taverns in the process of roasting whatever meat would be the star of the night's dinner. Outside the city, flashes of color occasionally burst outwards, the arcane abilities of soldier-mages blooming upon the wintry fields.

And turning outwards upon the plateau, they could see too, the untamed wilderness of the frontier. Grand trees burst beyond the canopies. Great lakes shimmered like emerald in the sunlight. A bird, or perhaps a dragon, cavorted through wispy clouds in the distance. Magenta fumes exuded from plains of black rock. The wind carried with it screams, but of terror or jubilation, it was uncertain. The unknown called for them, and yet, approaching the edge, they could see that there was naught but a sheer drop ending in jagged, fang-like rocks.

The moment of reprieve ended. Their journey was not yet over.

Oscar ranged ahead and the others followed his footprints. Now that they were on flat trails, they all traveled much faster. It was difficult, of course, to gauge how wide the trails truly were when snow masked everything, but it was simple enough to just stick to the side. They passed behind frozen waterfalls, the sunlight turning turquoise within the icy pathways. They passed over streams of snowmelt, water torpidly gurgling down into oblivion. They passed by a herd of shaggy mountain goats ascending up the sheer face of the mountain with casual grace.

There were no monsters here. No monsters but the ones that lingered within the party.

The wagon party traveled on.

Well, at least they did, until they couldn't.

Oscar was waiting for them around the bend, and it was obvious why the Ranger had chosen to wait. Had there been an earthquake recently? Had there been a great battle? Or had Ettamri's map simply been inaccurately drawn?

Before them, as if carved by the deathblow of a war god, was a chasm where the road should have continued. A chasm that fell all the way down to the forest below. A chasm that separated one side from the other by an insurmountable ten meters.

Had they taken the wrong path?