Soren had ridden through the night without stopping, without slowing, pushing the mare past exhaustion into something that transcended mortal endurance.
She ran like a creature possessed, hooves barely touching ground, breath misting in the increasingly frigid air.
And Eris burned hotter with each passing hour.
He'd wrapped her in his cloak, in layers of frost that evaporated almost instantly, in desperate prayers he didn't remember learning. Her skin had gone from flushed to nearly translucent, veins glowing beneath like molten rivers trying to escape flesh too fragile to contain them.
She hadn't woken once.
Hadn't stirred, hadn't murmured, hadn't given any sign that consciousness still existed somewhere in that burning shell.
But her heart kept beating.
That was enough. Had to be enough.
By dawn Soren reached his destination.
