Her ears twitched to the growl, picking up vibrations the snowcat had left. She opened a window and looked outside, and a sudden gust of cold wind blew, making Thraos clench his cloak. She heard the growl again, this time distant; her sister was calling her.
"We are almost there," Zenesha said, her silver whispers dancing to the wind.
Dirt and snow crawled off from the hooves, and the horses kept moving; if they stopped, they would freeze to death. Black and grey trees stood by the narrow pass, as if they were struck by lightning. The way was narrow and the horses had to tread slowly and in a straight line, any misstep would lead them to plummet to their deaths.
The path was divided into two, both leaner that the earlier. The horses were too scared to walk over them, but the coachman kept on pressing. They went to the path on the right, climbing higher and higher. The cold started to get unbearable, and it seemed a strong gust might toss them away.
