I gazed out the open window to clear my head, and then leaned further out to see more clearly where we were on the mountain. I had been opened probably for my benefit. Icy air flowed through the half-open window. Snow blanketed our very narrow pathway. The snow had stopped falling, and I could discern the swaths cut through the pristine snow by our coach's wheels trailing behind us. The moon had poked out and cast its silvery light upon the snow in a dazzling display of blue and white crystals, while our coach created a crisp shadow as it trundled along.
“We're going down the mountain,” I said, my brain still a bit fuzzy. My gaze yanked back when I spotted the ledge drop-off into a dark abyss.
“Yes. That is the only way to get down to Targoviste,” Joha said drolly.
The coach leaned into
