The checkpoint was slow.
Here, everything was slow.
Cold made people that way; it made them careful, suspicious.
Malik waited in line like the rest. But unlike them, he didn't speak, didn't shuffle, didn't sigh. He just waited, standing like a frozen man with Black on his shoulder, taking a short nap.
One merchant ahead got turned away for a torn trading permit. A woman tried to recite them a prayer so they could let her in even though she was blacklisted. Some kid just cried the whole time, parents barely paying attention to him. They were... tiring.
The guards were tired.
He was tired.
Eventually, and not soon enough, Malik reached the front of the queue.
Before him were many guards, all wearing layered crimson armor with fur-lined cloaks. Heavy spears in hand. Faces wrapped. Only their eyes visible through small slits.
One of them stepped forward.
"Halt. State your name and purpose."
Malik stopped, his dead eyes landing on the man, making him flinch.
