The sun raced across the sky as if trying to flee the mountains. When the afternoon arrived—pale and devoid of warmth—the trio quickened their pace. The hours slipped by, grating and rough, and they knew that before nightfall, they would have to find shelter. Somewhere discreet, defensible. Somewhere to sleep—or at least, not die.
Trees became scarcer as they climbed. The ground was treacherous, littered with dry roots and deceptive stones, ready to roll beneath their boots. The wind sang between the rocks, sharp as a blade and carrying scents no human could name. Ancient smells. Hungry ones.
"If we don't find something within the hour, we go back down," said Élisa, scanning the surroundings, her golden eyes narrowed under the harsh light. "I'd rather sleep in mud than wake up with a jaw in my gut."
"Interesting option," Maggie growled, stepping over a fallen trunk. "As long as the mud doesn't bite."
