Alaria:
The storm bit harder the farther we ran.
Snow clung to my lashes, my breath coming out in ragged bursts, every inhale cutting like glass. The cold had teeth, and it sank deep, past skin and bone, straight into the place that still dared to hope.
Anastasia’s small hand was wrapped tight in mine, her mitten slipping every few steps. But mittens slipping was better than her being locked in a luxurious cage. No matter how he tried to make it seem.
Marin followed close behind, her steps careful but quick, her face pale beneath the falling snow.
“We’re close,” she said between breaths. “The forest line, it’s just ahead. Once we reach it, there’s an old road. It’ll lead us toward the river. They won’t track easily past that. It would help cover our scent. The snow is getting stronge
