The boy's eyes flickered as Augustine and Cassius exchanged glances. The prince then moaned softly in anguish as the general's verdict was revealed. There was no escaping this hellhole, at least not anytime soon. And that was assuming they would make it through. Though his brother was undoubtedly one of the best generals in the kingdom, what use was a king without subjects? As of now, the four only had each other and the vicious mountain that, Frey was convinced, was making him lose his mind. 

Gritting his teeth, the adolescent nodded. "Let's hurry up then!" He snapped, feeling something in his throat tremble as he raised his voice. Then, more hoarsely, he added. "Please..." 

As Augustine and Cassius hurried ahead, Frey followed. However, before he was completely out of the area, he felt something hard hit the top of his head. It wasn't until after whipping his head around to see it, did he realize it was some sort of pinecone. Abesntly, the prince rubbed the spot where the pinecone had struck him. It was sore, though other than that, was hardly damaged. 

Regardless, Frey felt his blood heat up as he flushed with fury. Too sore to scream anymore and too tired to strike anything, he simply whispered, "Scum..." before leaning against a tree and hurrying to catch up to the others. He left too soon to see that he had left a bloody hand mark on one of the trees. The burning sound it made almost concealed the maniacal laughter of the unnamed creatures. 

Dragging his feet sulkily through the dark forest floor, Frey 's eyes flickered up curiously as his hand was fondled and, for a brief period, held. He had no resistance, but at the same time, no eagerness. The prince's fire had not been extinguished but rather doused. And, for whatever reason, Asbel's warm hand made him feel the least bit better. "Th-" He had meant to give some gratitude, voice his thanks, but he hadn't a chance to. Augustine, for whatever reason, had decided to speak to Asbel about something, leaving Frey's hand a bit emptier. He didn't try to sink his fingers back into his flesh, though. 

Frey then trudged in the wet forest along Cassius, and the next six or seven hours passed with a gray tint. After a while, everything started to look the same, and his feet were wet from the water soaking through his boots and wooly socks. Frey wanted nothing more than to just strip the socks off; they were an annoyance more than anything else! Cassius wasn't a very vocal person, and Frey was in no mood for his usual snarky, unnecessary commentary. 

"We're close to the North' aren't we?" Frey nearly pleaded.