Crossing the Zenith Mountains took four days. The cold nights, and windy days made the trek brutal. They did find sections where they were able to skirt around, rather than having to scale further up the mountain side. The paths were narrow. Rocks were loose. Footing was treacherous, but it was faster. Mykal felt like unless he used magic his blood and bones would never again warm.
When at last they descended the eastern side of the last mountain, they saw salvation. Sanctuary. The rising sun lit the sky. In the distance Mykal saw Castle Deep. It seemed close, reachable, but would still be a two-day walk. He didn’t look forward to it. His entire body ached, his thighs chaffed.
When they reached the foothills, mammoth peaks behind them, the plush forest, and green trees offered protection
