When the snowstorm passed over Gray Stone Fortress, it was like shards of glass being tossed down from a great height.
The old trade road was mixed with permafrost and mud, jostling travelers and leaving them dizzy.
Even the luxurious wheels creaked under the strain when caught in the potholes, as if protesting the cruelty of this wasteland.
Sorel sat steadily in the carriage, reaching out to check the door and window seams to ensure they were tightly shut, before retrieving the worn silver pendant from the lining of his shirt.
Flicking open the clasp, inside lay a thumb-sized charcoal sketch of a little girl clutching a doll.
Her face was pale, her eyes disproportionately large, yet she tried to smile ever so faintly beyond the frame, holding the doll tightly.
Sorel's fingertips gently caressed the image, briefly closing his eyes.
Then he fastened the pendant back in place, as if tucking away some secret into the crevices of his armor.
