The incline didn't let up.
Every step dug into his calves. The stone wasn't sharp, but it wasn't forgiving either. Just steady. Old. The kind of ground that didn't care who you were or how important your journey felt.
Lindarion shifted his scarf higher over his mouth. Not for warmth. Just to stop his breath from whistling through his teeth.
He didn't want them to hear how tired he actually was.
Meren was already panting. Loud. Too loud. His boots scuffed every other step. At some point, he'd stopped lifting his feet properly and just started dragging them.
"I feel like my spine's folding inward," Meren muttered.
Ren walked past him like she hadn't even heard.
"You're dramatic," she said without looking.
"You've been dying for the last two hours."
"Maybe I'm committed to the bit."
"Or maybe your lungs are weak."
Lira snorted. Quiet. She didn't slow down.