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Ryon does not answer. The silver on his finger glints, goading her. It is ordinary in appearance, yet Dawsyn suspects that it does not sparkle from mere sunlight. Upon revealing it, the chain around Dawsyn’s neck begins to pulse meekly, beating out of synch with her blood, and Dawsyn grinds her teeth. She turns.

“Get up,” Dawsyn barks, kicking the captain’s leg as she barrels past her and up the slope. “Move quickly!” Dawsyn does not bother to look over her shoulder to see if she is followed. They can both tumble downhill and wash up along the Boulder Gate, should they fail to keep pace.

New snowfall begins to obscure her original tracks up the mountain, and so she finds herself half running, half stumbling to retrace them.

In her haste, she carelessly sinks into a deep drift, and Ryon’s hands appear at her waist before she can react, ready to lift her out.

“Don’t!” she says, wrenching free of his hold.

He steps away, hands back at his sides. “My apologies.”

Dawsyn does not acknowledge him, does not even look at him. Instead, she continues to lead them to the flat expanse at the base of the cliff, where Baltisse lies eerily still. She is far more difficult to see now, fresh-fallen snow camouflaging parts of her.

It is what the mountain does, Dawsyn knows. It steals away the idle, quickly claiming those who linger upon it. It buries you and all your traces as though you were never here at all.

“Baltisse,” Ryon utters, then rushes beyond Dawsyn, coming to his knees before the mage.

Dawsyn, too, sinks to the snow before Baltisse’s head. Gently, she begins to uncover her wrappings, swallowing hard.

Be alive.

The mage’s breaths are shallow but steady, her cheeks pink and untouched by frost. The rest of her, however, remains to be seen. The cold knows pathways to the skin and creeps into the breaks and crevices like water finding the ocean.

“Wake up, Baltisse,” Ryon calls, his fingers tapping the mage’s cheek.

Her lids open and shut, eyes rolling beneath, but she is too weak, too weary even to scold Ryon for daring to lay a finger on her.

“We must move,” Dawsyn says. “Can you lift her?”

But he already is. Ryon hefts the mage from the ground, the snow tumbling from her body, and brings her to his chest.

Dawsyn has never thought of Baltisse as small in stature, but in the half-Glacian’s arms she looks slight. Breakable.

“I saw a place–” Dawsyn begins, but Ryon interrupts her, already striding away.

“There is a shelter nearby. Come.”

Dawsyn swallows the urge to lash out at him. The way back to the cave she found earlier is long, and Baltisse must be brought out of the cold as soon as possible. So Dawsyn follows, watching as Ryon treads with sure steps away from the rock face, and despite the ire she feels, she is undeniably relieved.

They journey a much shorter distance than the one Dawsyn had intended, and by the way the sweat trails down Ryon’s neck, it needn’t be longer. Though the mage is not so burdensome, the hybrid does indeed appear weakened.

Dawsyn makes the captain walk in front of her, but Ruby gives no trouble. She follows Ryon obediently.

They arrive at an opening – another hole on the mountain side where the rock and ice have crumbled away, leaving a cavernous space in its wake.

Ryon leads the way inside, bending in half to fit. The captain follows, her expression uncertain, and then Dawsyn. She ducks her head as she enters, the smell of earth immediately assailing her. The sound of wind abates, and she feels her skin sing in relief at its absence.

Ryon lays Baltisse along the cavern floor and Dawsyn crouches beside her. The mage’s lips are bloodless, but she appears otherwise unharmed.

“What happened to her?” Ryon asks.

“I don’t know. I found her like this.”

“You weren’t together?”

“We were, but we folded here, and then she was just… gone. I found her at the bottom of that cliff.”

Ryon’s mouth parts, but it is a moment more before he speaks. “Shefoldedyou both here?”