At last, they reached the summit.
Raspy and Sloppy collapsed onto the stone platform the moment their feet left the final stair. They bent over, gasping for air, their chests heaving so violently it looked as if they might explode. Every exhale was a long, ragged whistle that cut through the thin, icy air.
They sounded less like future Dragonborn and more like two very old, very defeated men.
"Wheeze—"
Raspy rasped, clutching his chest.
"Who… builds… this many stairs…?!"
Sloppy flopped onto the freezing ground, limbs splayed, eyes wide with disbelief.
"If I… have to climb… one more inch… I'm choosing to be a worm instead of a dragon."
Behind them, the wind whistled through the braids of Knots. He stepped onto the plateau with grace, his breathing were silent. Not a bead of sweat marred his forehead; his ceremonial silks were barely even wrinkled. He stood there, a pale sentinel in the moonlight, looking as though he'd just finished a casual stroll through the royal gardens.
