"WAGON’S STUCK!"

	A raging snowstorm roared and writhed at the convoy. Hissing, snarling, seething it was a white beast trying to waer down and exhaust the men and women trying to brave their way to Ssanjuu. It was even worse outside of the protected wards the teams of Imperial mages that had created the route ahead of them. At least within the relative safety of the magicked path, they could see more than a handspan's width in front of their face. Of course, that provided little comfort when the astronomers had predicted that there'd be nothing but a light snowfall on what was supposed to be a single day's journey.

	It had been almost two days since they set out from Guanyo. The route pathed for them was circuitous and winding as they followed the thin, fragile-looking markers that was all that delineated the harsh storm that befell them now and the roiling, impenetrable mass of white on the other side. There was barely enough room to keep the convoy in a single line - the hazards of doing anything less was too dangerous to risk. The caravan master had personally witnessed one of his men stumble and fall over the ephemeral barrier, only to then have the rest of her be whipped and disappear into the maelstrom. Her scream was short and brief, the rest drowned in the winds. Pan could only hope her life had ended in the same fashion.

	“Which wagon was it?”

	“One of Rashad’s, Master Pan. A wheel got stuck in the drift and broke as he was trying to move it.”

	A string of curses that was unbecoming of the usually unflappable caravan master spilled out faster than pieces from a Yeng-Shi brat’s coin pouch. 

	“Can one of the mages fix it?”

	“The witch is working on it, but the work is slow and she is saying the wards are interfering with her magic.”

	“Ai-yo. How long?”

	“Two hours, maybe.”

	Better than spending the better part of a day fixing it without her, but it still wasn’t time they could afford. Pan didn’t know how long this winding path would take them, which was compounded by the fact that they had to drive the train at an agonizingly slow pace. 

	“Very well. Tell everyone to pack in.”

	Then a sound. Something that Pan couldn’t hear - at least not over the howling winds - but something he could feel. The old soldier looked out into the blinding white, then looked back down at the attendant.

	“And have Rashad distribute the cargo on his broken wagon out to the others. We can always put it back later tonight once we camp.”