The sun was once again retreating away from the world, the frosts of Coerthas proving yet again to be too much of a match for a few meager bells of light. Warren stood on one of the roads halfway between the Whitebrim front and Dragonhead. A quiet voice in the back of his head ran the numbers.
They said she came through in the evening. They said he pursued her. Neither was dressed for the cold, they've been gone for an entire day lost in the snow there's no way they could have
He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the pressure in them and willing himself to remain upright. Howling winds raced past him, merciless in their assault and slipping under his cloak and into the cracks of his armor. One hand rested on Victory's reins while the other sat atop the hilt of his sword.
You've been up and down these hills all day. You've searched all over. No one has seen anything since they left. There's no reports.
Warren pulled himself wearily into the saddle. He felt another twinge of sympathy for the bird; He had greedily allowed himself to rest while his beast of burden continued their march into a frozen wasteland. The poor bird had been awake longer than he had, and Warren knew he couldn't push the creature to those lengths. Dragonhead would be warm, and he could afford to stable...
Whitebrim was at his back as he steered the animal away from the dying sun. His thoughts grew stronger with the stretching of the shadow before him, his shape distorted into something larger than he and stark contrast to the ever-present white of the snow.
An entire day. In their shape...
Warren gripped the leather reigns so hard he was afraid they would crack due to the cold. His plan was a simple one: Let Victory rest, and invest in torches.
They'll need the heat.
They said she came through in the evening. They said he pursued her. Neither was dressed for the cold, they've been gone for an entire day lost in the snow there's no way they could have
He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the pressure in them and willing himself to remain upright. Howling winds raced past him, merciless in their assault and slipping under his cloak and into the cracks of his armor. One hand rested on Victory's reins while the other sat atop the hilt of his sword.
You've been up and down these hills all day. You've searched all over. No one has seen anything since they left. There's no reports.
Warren pulled himself wearily into the saddle. He felt another twinge of sympathy for the bird; He had greedily allowed himself to rest while his beast of burden continued their march into a frozen wasteland. The poor bird had been awake longer than he had, and Warren knew he couldn't push the creature to those lengths. Dragonhead would be warm, and he could afford to stable...
Whitebrim was at his back as he steered the animal away from the dying sun. His thoughts grew stronger with the stretching of the shadow before him, his shape distorted into something larger than he and stark contrast to the ever-present white of the snow.
An entire day. In their shape...
Warren gripped the leather reigns so hard he was afraid they would crack due to the cold. His plan was a simple one: Let Victory rest, and invest in torches.
They'll need the heat.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
