The frigid air wa sharp enough to bite through bone. From where he was seated, Nero could feel the hard bone on his back. It was cold, like the biting air. But at least now, he could rest his weary body.
He had found a section of the base that jutted outward like a broken tooth and sat down against it with his back to the bone, facing the empty field they had just spent three days crossing. Just thinking about it was enough to put a bitter smile on his face.
Three days of grueling torture. It was something he would never forget. The fog was still out there, hanging pale and formless. Somewhere inside it the Shaman stood at its invisible boundary with its wicked green eyes and its orbiting rings bonedust, watching them soundlessly.
Nero trembled. He still had no idea why the damned thing had decided to stop chasing after them. But he was not complaining.
At least for now, they could rest.
He did not look at it for long.
He rolled his sleeve up and checked his arm.
