Hours passed. Then more.
The wind never let up. It cut through his cloak, through the leather beneath, until it finally cut into the very marrow of his bones. Snow stung his eyes, and ice crusted in his lashes and the scruff accumulating on his face.
Still, he continued. He had no choice. Lyra was somewhere on the other side of the oppressive expanse of snow and ice.
Each step felt heavier than the last. There was no rhyme or reason here. Every mile looked like the last. There were no scents for Ash to track, and he couldn’t find anywhere to even break the wind for a brief reprieve from the cold. Only white emptiness that Kade began to think would stretch forever. He wondered briefly if all of the religious texts were wrong.
“Maybe hell is cold?” he mused. “I might prefer that to flame
