The passing of time did not improve the weather. If anything, the wrath of the mountains seemed to grow fiercer as the night went on. She would have blamed it on the gods had they been alive, but unfortunately they died before her time and all that was left to blame was her questionable decisions. Nevertheless, she forced herself to keep on moving. The people ahead of her were certainly moving forward, not looking back. Unless she had given up all hope and decided to die, she would have to keep asking her feet to carry her with one step ahead of the other.

She had no way to tell who the people in front of her were. Even if she first saw them when there was just enough light to distinguish a jutting rock from a person, they were too far away and the snowfall too thick. As the darkness in the mountains deepened, she worked with all she got to close the distance between her and the group. If it got too dark, she would lose them altogether and the snow on the mountain would swallow her whole.

But what would she do once she caught up on them? Would they find it in their hearts to spare her cold food? She could pay. She would pay with the collected from the corpse of the people she had sworn to protect. They never had to know that the coins were stolen. Money should be enough motivation for these people to share what they had. Besides, due to the lack of information, she had to assume that these people were travelers just like her, who had questionable decision making skills unless…

The difference between them, she decided, was that they apparently knew what they were doing even if, for no obvious reason, they started to run, which in turn forced her tired legs to work harder.

It soon became clear why the three remaining black lumps began running as it was hard to miss the light spilling from a rook carved out from an outcropping rock formation. Ysabel paused in the shadows catching her breath as the wind whipped her cloak. Her dark eyes watched the five men, all in black cloaks and fur huddled around the fire. She then understood the reason why they seemed acquainted with the mountain. Winter’s Children of Cannor. 

Well, she had no choice if she wanted to live through the night. The weather was not about to stop its tantrums and the fire called to her. So warm and bright. She needed to get close, just a bit closer and closer still. Until a sound like an animal’s roar tore through her thoughts. 

“You!” one of them bellowed, his voice rising over the mountain’s aria. The other four stirred, and she found herself the subject of five strangers’ eyes. “I told you I saw four figures approach, Ranor.”

The one who called her attention got up from his perch on a rock and started towards the opening of the cave, walking up to her. He was a bear of a man, tall and broad, and perhaps with as much muscle as Gyles. Nevertheless, Ysabel stood her ground just outside the little camp. She doubted these men would hurt her unless she gave them a reason, but she could never be sure so she kept one hand resting on the hilt of a dagger.

“Show your ha –“

He didn’t get to finish. The warg didn’t let him finish. In the darkness, these beasts were hard to see until it was ready to pounce. And just as travelers like her were drawn to the light, they were attracted to the warm glow of the fire. It leapt from the boulder adjacent to the mouth of the rook, landing a few feet from where Ysabel previously stood. The woman, thank her unhappy childhood for her good reflex, was able to dive away from that spot and landed somewhere beside the tall man. She immediately rolled to her feet and drew her sword.