Be thee fairly warned.
Night falls over the foothills of the Kilanthro Mountains like a shroud. Dark, hazy clouds hang in the sky, blocking what little light might have been provided by a wan moon, sickly and pale. Kanimir's breath frosts in front of his face, ghostly in the chill wind, and he tugs his coat slightly closer around his frame. He's lost feeling in his toes, tough and hardy boots of leather perhaps not best suited to the snow crunching underfoot, and he wraps his free arm back around his torso to keep his coat close. His other hand is held up in front of him, sparks and cracks of red and gold bouncing around in his palm and between his fingers as a source of light in the cloying darkness.
He had hoped to make better time, reach the foothills before dusk. But, as usual, circumstances had changed, they had been slightly waylaid, and those precious hours that should have been put into the journey were lost. It's not the first time he's made this particular climb in the dark, nor does he doubt it will not be the last, but he can't deny he feels poorly for his companion. Glancing back, he half turns to illuminate her, sparks flaring brighter in an ever so tightly controlled effort to add a little more light to their path. At the very least, he had managed to convince Keithia to actually acquire more than an oversized shirt before this particular leg of their journey, quite certain that, nature nymph or no, she would be frostbitten and hypothermic before they even made it to Rienna if she didn't.
Satisfied that she was still a few paces behind him, if looking slightly miserable, he turns back ahead, squinting through the darkness and snuffing the magic in his palm for a moment when his eyes catch the faintest outline - there. Lights twinkle in the distance, and he lets out a relieved huff of air, adjusting his bag straps across his chest and turning back towards Keithia.
"Almost there." He says, voice almost lost in the wind wailing gently around them, and pushes his chilled body forwards, snow crunching underfoot in a way that is quietly satisfying. The village is less than twenty furlongs away, and the prospect of a hot bath and a tankard of something strong to warm his innards is motivation enough to push his chilled limbs forwards once more.
Perhaps, tomorrow, he might look at buying them both some furs. Again. He really should stop loosing his travelling apparel during the interim between countries. Then again, it's not like he needs furs in Adela, and his likes to travel
light.The village draws ever closer, twinkling lights drawing them on like beacons in the dark.
@SanctifiedSavage