They moved at dawn.
At least, Ludwig assumed it was dawn.
The sky had brightened by a shade, but calling it morning felt generous. There was no sunrise, no gold bleeding across the peaks, no warmth crawling over the ridges. The world simply changed from black-gray to gray-white, as if someone had lifted one dirty veil and revealed another underneath. Clouds dragged low over the mountains. Snow slid across the ground in thin, restless streams. The trail ahead continued north, cutting deeper beyond Solania's final reach and into lands where maps became less confident.
Tull stared at the sky with open resentment.
"This is not morning," he said. "This is night pretending to be useful."
Redd adjusted the strap of his pack. "You slept."
"I slept badly."
"You complain better after rest."
"That is because I have more strength to express how miserable I am."
Thomas hovered near Ludwig's shoulder, ember wings flickering softly. "I think the cold is getting worse."
