The snow was cold beneath us, seeping through our training leathers, but neither of us moved to find warmer ground. We sat side by side on the edge of the training yard, our backs against a low stone wall, our breath misting in the cold air. The sun had climbed above the mountains, pale and weak, its light filtering through the clouds that hung low over the fortress. The shadows were short, the light flat, the world suspended in that fragile moment between morning and midday.
Kaelen's chest was still heaving, his breath coming in slow, measured gasps. A sheen of sweat clung to his brow, despite the cold, and his dark hair was damp at the temples. He looked tired but not exhausted—the good tired of a body that had been pushed and was now resting.
