"So, this really isn't your troll's doing?" I asked.
A heavy mist hovered around us; its smoky tendrils dyed in the same green tinge reflected in the forks of emerald lightning streaking across the sky.
"This is not the mist troll's doing," Lorias assured me. "It is a sign…"
"Of what?" I huffed.
"That we are nearing our destination," Lorias answered, although I wasn't sure if it was just him being theatrically ominous or if the mist was making his voice barely audible. "Be ready, Will."
"I was born ready," I puffed.
"I hope so," he replied.
With the ljósálfar's voice barely penetrating the thick fog surrounding me, I needed to glance over my shoulder just to make sure I wasn't walking alone.
