It had been over two days since we entered the Snowy Mountains, and we still hadn't seen the slightest trace of the Ice Elves.
Phoebe had been right. The relentless wind, combined with the near-constant snowfall, made it practically impossible to follow any particular path. Snow gusted around us like sharp needles, stinging our faces and forcing us to squint against the icy barrage. The landscape shifted endlessly, mounds of snow piling up and reshaping the terrain with each gust. Long story short, it was absolute hell to navigate this place.
Walking wasn't the worst part, though; it was trying to rest. Sleeping in this weather was a whole new level of torture. I hadn't closed my eyes for a real rest since we left the tribe's village, and I was running on sheer determination at this point. I'd seen Phoebe sleep a bit here and there, but it didn't look remotely restful because of the wind and the snow.
