He realised it slowly, the way frost creeps across a window, invisible until the glass goes white.
The poisoning had started way back. Before the trees, before the inn.
Kaelen stopped walking. The snow was falling again, but he could not feel it on his face. The cold was there, somewhere, but it felt distant, like a memory of a sensation rather than the thing itself. His boots were heavy, his legs were heavy. His thoughts moved as through molasses.
"Markus, Rin," he said.
The big man turned. His face was pale, his eyes unfocused. "Yes?"
"We took a wrong turn. A long time ago. We are not in a forest."
Markus blinked. "What are you talking about? Look at the trees."
Kaelen looked. The trees were still there, tall, dark. Needles like knives. But something was wrong with them. The longer he stared, the less real they became. Their edges blurred. Their shadows moved in ways that had nothing to do with light.
