15
Wild Hogs
The storm’s momentum slowed as they moved farther south. For a boy with Northerland blood coursing through his limbs, Drystan had no fear in traversing a land blanketed in dense, relentless snow. The horses only slowed for obstructions in the path, but seemed unbothered by the knee-deep white up to their knees as they lifted their hooves in and out. Slowly, surely. It wasn’t the pace they could have taken on one of the Compass Roads, but they aimed for safety, not speed. And for now, at least, the weather held to their level of comfort. Drystan had lived through far worse.
Ravenna had seen far worse in her castle atop the mountain, too, though when he asked how bad the weather was in the skies, where snowbolts were said to rain down death, she found a way not to answer, as
