Through the mountains. If Solma had known better, that phrase would have filled her with dread. As it is, the dread only comes two days in, when she’s trying to coax a stubborn Burdock to plod along a path so narrow that one of the cart’s wheels keeps catching on the edge. To her left, a mountain bolts into the sky like a great tooth. To her right, the ground plunges away in a sheer wall of jutting rock splinters. Wind buffets them, like the breath of some laughing god, and Solma thinks she’s beginning to understand the pull of the old-world religions. In the face of such hugeness, even she’s tempted to believe.
Although they stick to the lower passes, where the paths are less steep and there are trees and shrubs to shield them from the elements, the way is harsh. Warren spends most of hi
