It was cold. The kind of cold that would turn a gust of wind into a knife, freezing your breath and sinking into your bones. Not unlike being hit with a blizzard spell, really. It shouldn't be so cold, not so close to spring, but even with the forces of the world evening out, there were occasional bouts of temper. Growing pains, maybe. Either way, it didn't change the facts. It was damn cold, and there was little they could do but press on in the steady snow.

Locke cast a glance back at Celes to be sure she was still behind him before turning back to the climb. She'd been so quiet, but they had little breath to waste, and she'd never been loose with her words. His boots fought for traction on the icy pathway while he studied the terrain with sharp and expert attention. There was an entrance to the mines around here, somewhere. He used to know this place like the back of his hand, even in a blizzard. In the wake of the cataclysm, the old familiar landmarks weren't so familiar, anymore.