Dawn at the foot of the mountain range descended with a thin mist and a bone-chilling cold.
Rianor was awake long before the first hint of sunlight grazed the craggy hilltops. Around him, the camp hummed with efficient rhythm. Dom silently checked the saddle tension; Naya rolled up the tents with swift, practiced movements; while Orva fed the remaining grain from Driftwood to the horses, their nostrils puffing white clouds of steam into the freezing air. Perched atop a flat stone, Adul hunched over his communication box, his brow furrowed in anxiety under the dim, flickering light of the crystal panel.
"The signal to command headquarters is almost dead, sir," Adul reported, his voice trembling slightly from the cold. "This might be the last time I can transmit a test pulse before we are completely cut off from Iron Hearth."
"Send our final coordinates," Rianor instructed, tightening his belt. "Then shut it down. Save your energy for the journey."
