Morning came with a fresh blanket of snow and darkening skies that promised more. Xavier tightened the cinch on Smoke's saddle, patting the gray gelding's neck as the animal snorted clouds of vapor into the frigid air.
"Storm's coming," Dalen announced, moving between the wagons. "We push through to the next waypoint. No stops unless absolutely necessary."
Xavier glanced toward the northern pass, where clouds hung low and heavy against jagged peaks.
Leading Ember by the reins, Naomi approached. The cold had painted her cheeks pink, her breath visible in short, irritated puffs.
"Efler wants us to ride in her wagon today," Xavier said, keeping his tone neutral. "With the weather turning, it makes sense."
"I'd rather ride." Naomi adjusted her fur-lined hood. "Horses can navigate snow better than wagons if things get bad."
"That's not what the caravan master says."
