The storm did not lift after the first quarter. It only shifted in shape
Wind came in sudden shrouds of pressure, and the dust and cold rain combined to swallow distance. Markers that had been clear as day on the open highlands dulled to meaningless scraps. Even the key at Lucian's belt remained dull, as though the storm pressed against all manner of seat-weight the same.
Rhel kept the group on a tight string through the fog, one hand out to find the nearest crest before the land rushed down and away. "Stay together. If anyone loses themselves here before they see the farther crest, we might not know to look again."
Sera's lower face was swaddled in a strip of her cloak against the dust. "How long before it passes?"
"Long enough to give the wrong impressions," Istra muttered, favoring her ribs even as her gaze tracked every twist of the horizon. "Long enough to make someone else pay attention."
