Rhianwen looked up through the swirling blizzard; at least she thought the direction was up. Everything was white, so it was hard to tell. There was no longer earth or sky, nothing but the howling wind and the seductive cold, whispering, calling, begging…

Go to sleep….

Shut your eyes….

Take a rest….

"No!" She chocked out, "No." she wouldn't die, not yet, not after all she'd been through. Six months of hard riding with little rest. It had taken a month to get around the Plains, with near on no roads to speak of. Not that she would have taken them if they were there. She'd stopped off at Kata'shin'a'in for near on a month, it was too long and she knew it, they had almost caught up with her, but she had needed time to heal, and hadn't had a choice. Rwen had changed horses then, had no choice really with Lady Dawn dead from the trek. Her current mount, Salome, had been a gift. Rwen felt the Battlemare shift beneath her. Aye a gift, but a costly one. Her face still ached. She had learned since leaving her home, that most gifts came at a price, and rarely was it that they didn't have strings attached. Then she'd gone round Jkatha, risking the roads now that They were so close behind, and hoping the passing of other travelers would muddle her tracks. Then into Rethwellan…a particularly sharp gust of wind brought her back to the present, and the cold. The storm had blown up suddenly, too suddenly, it had been Harvest when she'd left Petras, and that was only fourteen days ago. The Blizzards shouldn't have started until late Harvest, or Winter even.

Go to sleep…

"Shut up!" Rwen spat, trying to urge Salome faster, the mare, if anything, seemed to slow, she knew the dangers of the terrain they were in, even if her mistress did not. They'd been almost out of the twisted warren of cliffs and mountains called the Comb, almost out, when the blizzard had blown up from the black bruised sky. Almost out. Almost free. Not that they shouldn't have been free already, three countries Rwen had passed through, three seats of power, four sets of laws, scores of towns. Faces, ringed with halos of light and colours… another gift. That one had more strings than a ball of yarn. But despite the distance They were still following. Rwen felt a shiver slip down her spine that had nothing to do with the biting cold that surrounded her. She had hoped that They wouldn't come this far, hoped that They would have stopped at the Plains. When they didn't, she hadn't known what to think. The Comb should have stopped all but the hardiest, the best. That's why she'd gone across country as it were. With the thin hope that the terrain would kill some of Them for her. Rwen couldn't tell yet if that decision had been a blessing or a curse. She refused to think about what would happen if They caught her out in the open like this, alone, in the cold, half dead already with hunger and fatigue. She wouldn't think about it, couldn't think about it. The thought of escape was all that had kept her going for the past four days after the last of the jerky she'd made from the thinner packs had run out. No food, not even oats, and the only liquid what snow she could catch when she opened her mouth. The beautiful Shin'a'in tack she had been gifted with had been left behind in the snow, used to lay a false trail to try and throw Them off. At the time Rwen had thought she was being paranoid. Now, she wasn't so sure. She couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was being watched. Just because you feel an enemy is lurking behind every bush, it does not follow that you are wrong. The shaman of Tale'sedrin had told her that. Rwen found herself missing him, she missed them all really. The only family that she had left now. The only friends she'd ever had. Her first ever really. Since she'd left home, escape, freedom, and fear had been her only companions. Then she'd found the girl- Rwen's mind shied away from that thought, instead settling on another…

She could still remember the day clearly, it had been beautiful, the grain had just broken through the Spring soil, the tiny shoots waving in the wind… it was like she could see it in front of her now, all hazy… Rwen could almost fell the warmth...

It had been a perfect day… until the storm came, with Coryn riding before. It had sprung up suddenly, on the heels of Coryn's horse, it had seemed to her then. He was riding wildly across the fields with no care for the grain or the beast that even then had flecks of blood at her mouth. She could still remember the look on his face, his golden tan from years of working out doors, gone white, leaving his rugged face gray. He had dragged her into the House, yelling for her mother and Agnes, her aging nurse. She had been scared then, was still now. That fear had never left her, it was her constant companion. He hadn't told her all, just that she had to leave, now, tonight, this minute. She'd been ordered upstairs, to pack; only light mind you, Rwen would have to trade comfort for speed. It had seemed like no time at all until she was in the stable loading her horse. Coryn had stopped then, taken her hand, said good-bye, given her what strength he could. He had handed her a sword, not her usual practice blade, but a real sword, it was strangely familiar, though it would be three days before she remembered. It was the sword of the King. Coryn had strapped more weapons to her, none of them the practice blades that she had trained with, all of them real and sharp, all of them bearing the Royal Crest. Rwen had stopped him, tried to make him explain, but her only answer had been a breathless 'No time!' Then he had done something that had truly scared her. He had embraced her, and on her release had handed her a box. She had known what it was before she had opened it, known without a doubt, and it had filled her with fear and twisted her guts with dread. He had taken it out then, placed it upon her brow before she could stop him. The pain! She had awakened on a road foreign to her, tied to her horse with a map clutched tight in her hand.

The knowledge had hit her as soon as she'd sat up.

The King was dead.

Slowly Rhianwen felt her head; found the unyielding circlet that sat heavily on her brow, but let her hair flow free. The one piece of jewelry that she could never take off. 'Death or dishonor' so the saying went among the ruling class. The only things that would make the crown of Velvar move. And that hurt! Wait, no it didn't...

With a snap Rwen was back to the present and very much awake. Salome had clamped her teeth around Rwen's left hand and was steadily applying pressure. And Gods the cold! The golden fog in her head was rapidly clearing.

"Ah! Enough beast! I'm awake! I'm awake!" with a hiss of pain Rwen clutched her hand to her chest. She focused her eyes in front and almost cried with relief. The craggy cliffs were giving way to scrubby land, the storm was now at her back, and They were now far behind her.

Rwen didn't let relief stop her yet; she would not rest on the Giant's Doorstep, as it were. She pushed on until nightfall. Making camp in a stand of trees that hid within them a small pool. Rwen had almost laughed aloud when she'd seen it. A pool, with water! The first thing she had done was tend to Salome. Rwen rubbed her down with some dried grass for the first time in why felt like ages. She had then been watered and fed. Rwen had been steadily shedding clothes as she moved about her little camp until the only thing she wore was a thin, very much stained, tunic. With a sigh of pure bliss she tied her knotted mane of hair out of the way and settled into the small pool to scrub.