Book One – Chapter 9

The Jabarrah supported Yves’ faltering steps as his body, stiff and weary, hobbled towards the dwelling for refuge. The broken stone structure resembled something of a cellar, barely wide enough to accommodate one tightly curled up paigan, or four un-curled wizards, respectively. The ceiling hung so low that Yves needed to bow his head to enter. It did not matter. He could not stand straight, anyway. He struggled to walk, to remain on his feet, propped up by the Jabarrah and the Levitation Staff. A stony layer on the ground formed a slightly elevated floor. Everything was wet, water and wind penetrating through the open entrance. Still, the stone dome above shielded Yves from immediate rain and wind. Using the staff, Yves maneuvered the sled directly in front of the entrance, within reach and serving as an additional barrier against the weather.

With no strength or thought left to prepare for comfort, Yves could not even manage to pull a piece of fur from one of the chests. Instead, he sank down to his knees right where he stood, hands on the staff for support. Collapsing onto his side, he somehow arranged himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall to the right of the entrance. Stretching out, un-bending his stiff legs centimetre by centimetre, he observed as the heels of his boots scraped over the stone and mud. Mud and freezing rain filled his boots and socks and every crevice of his trousers. Everything was wet and dirty, his clothes stained with the smell of rain-soaked dirt. Well, at least all the blood had washed out by now.

For one last time, Yves shifted to second sight. By then, he could not sense the paigen anymore. Beyond 100 to 200 meters, the storm distorted all energies of the plateau so much that any lesser presences were concealed from his fading sight and dulled senses.