After that, I decided to head back to the wall. It took a few minutes, but considering how fast Darla was, it was to be expected even from as far away as we were.
Once I got to the iron gate, I noticed a figure blocking my entrance. He was clad in a brown cloak, with half his face covered by it. He looked built for the frozen wastes, wrapped in heavy, survival-ready layers. Beneath a dark, studded brigandine and segmented steel pauldron, he wore a thick brown wool cloth draped over a quilted tunic to seal out the chill. A dense, terracotta-colored scarf was knotted tight at his throat, securing a heavy, tattered winter cape over his left shoulder. Thick leather straps slashed across his chest, while dual utility belts slung low over frost-dusted, reinforced travel trousers.
I stepped down from Darla's back and walked up to him, glaring. He glared right back. We stood face to face like that for about three heartbeats.
