AYLA'S POV
The Outlands were dead land. Dry like hell itself looking for help.
No birds. No prey. Just the crunch of our paws and boots through knee-deep snow and the occasional groan of ice shifting beneath our weight. Even the wind felt wrong—like it carried whispers instead of air.
Kael's black wolf padded close to my silver one, our bond pulsing warm through the cold void. Every step we took forward was a challenge to the god who haunted these wastes.
Rylan trudged behind, knife loose in his hand, his amber-violet eyes scanning the horizon. "Another mile of this, and I'm going to start talking to the snow," he muttered. "At least the mountains had… you know… rocks."
Kael's voice rumbled through the tether, dry and molten. "You talk too much as it is."
Rylan gave me a sideways look. "You hear this, Luna? He gets funnier the colder it gets."
Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at my lips. If he starts making jokes, we're doomed, I teased through the bond.
