The carriage came to a slow, grinding halt, its iron wheels crunching deeply into the thick crust of the Northwest snow.
The journey from the castle had been grueling, a relentless travelling through mountain passes and choking blizzards.
Before the frost horses could even settle into their harnesses, Harun quickly stepped down into the freezing wind. The wind howled like a wounded beast, tearing at his clothes, but he paid it no mind. Pulling his dark cloak tighter around his shoulders to block out the invading bone chilling cold , he extended a gloved hand toward the carriage door offering support to the figure emerging from the velvet-lined insulated interior.
Zaliyah stepped down from the carriage, his winter boots sinking slightly into the white ground. He was draped in a lavish cloak of red furs that contrasted with the bleak, colorless landscape of the northern territory
