The cold deepened as the midnight hour passed. That turned the moisture in the air to a crystal-clear frost that silvered the edges of the dark rock rocks. Under the shelter of the overhang, the small greasewood fire had burned down to a mound of glowing red embers, banked with fine grey ash to keep the smoke from rising into the night sky where a royal patrol might spot it.
Kezra Venn sat on the footboard of the handcart. Her wool blanket pulled was tight around her shoulders, her Bonded Survey Notebook resting closed across her lap. Beside her, Fellis Dain was using a fine needle and waxed linen thread to repair a torn seam in the canvas cart cover, his breath pluming in short, rhythmic clouds in the lantern light.
Paxa Sel sat on her bedding roll near the rock wall, grinding dried willow bark in a small stone mortar. The steady, rhythmic clink of the granite pestle provided a calm, clockwork pulse against the howling of the wind outside. After every dozen strokes, the healer would pause, test the fineness of the grey powder between her thumb and forefinger, and add a pinch of dried elder flowers from a tin box.
