Targesh stood at the stream's edge, his head tilted back, nostrils flaring.
"What is it?"
"Weather." He did not look at her. "Coming in from the west."
She followed his gaze. The clouds were moving faster now, rolling over the peaks like smoke. The temperature had dropped noticeably in the last hour.
"How bad?"
"I do not know yet." He turned back to the horses, checking their footing, running a hand along his mount's flank. "The pass is two hours ahead. The nearest shelter is an hour behind us."
"So we push forward or we retreat."
"Yes."
She watched the clouds. They were darker now, the leading edge a bruised gray that promised nothing good. The wind gusted, sharp enough to make her eyes water.
"What would you do if I weren't here?"
He looked at her then. "I would push forward. The pass has overhangs. Places to wait out a storm."
"Then we push forward."
He did not argue. He did not tell her she was being foolish or brave or anything at all. He simply mounted his horse and waited for her to do the same.
The storm caught them an hour from the pass.
One moment the sky was gray and threatening; the next, the world dissolved into wind and ice and a darkness that had no business existing at midday. The temperature plummeted so fast that Verity's breath froze on her scarf before she could exhale it fully.
Targesh's horse appeared beside hers, close enough that their stirrups knocked together. His hand found her reins.
"Stay with me." His voice was barely audible over the wind. "Do not let go."
She gripped the pommel with both hands and let him lead.
The trail became treacherous. Rain mixed with sleet, turning the stone slick and uncertain. Twice her horse stumbled, and twice Targesh's grip on her reins kept the animal from going down. She could not see more than a few feet ahead. The world had contracted to the sound of hooves on stone and the bulk of Targesh's shoulder blocking the worst of the wind.
Time lost meaning. There was only the cold and the dark and the endless forward motion.
Then Targesh pulled his horse to a stop.
"Here."
She could not see what he was pointing at. The storm had reduced everything to gray shapes and darker shadows. But he dismounted, and she felt his hands at her waist, lifting her down, and then he was pulling her forward through the wind toward something solid.
Rock. A wall of it, rising up out of the storm. And at its base, a darkness that was not just shadow—an opening. A cave.
He pushed her inside.
The silence was immediate and shocking. The wind still howled outside, but the rock walls cut it to a distant roar. Verity stood in the darkness, her breath coming in gasps, her entire body shaking with cold.
Targesh moved past her, deeper into the cave. She heard the scrape of flint, the crackle of kindling catching. A small flame bloomed in the darkness, illuminating a space larger than she had expected. The cave went back perhaps twenty feet, the ceiling high enough for Targesh to stand upright, the floor relatively flat and dry.
"The horses." Her voice came out as a croak.
"Sheltered." He fed the fire carefully, coaxing it larger. "There is an overhang outside. They will be cold but not in danger."
She believed him. She had no choice but to believe him; she could not have gone back outside if her life depended on it.
