The ruin had once been a site of worship, or punishment, or both. Apollo saw it first from the notch of the valley: black stones canted at improbable angles, as if the ground beneath had heaved in disgust and the building, too tired to object, had simply leaned into collapse.
The dog whimpered and gnashed its teeth at the wind; even Nik, who could joke his way through a murder, said nothing as the path funneled them toward the entrance.
Lyra walked a few steps ahead, chin tucked, arms folded beneath her coat. Long, pale hair whipped across her eyes, as if she hated the idea of seeing what waited inside.
Thorin trailed behind, dragging his bad leg through the crusted snow, not bothering anymore to hide the pain.
