A ferocious haul on the lead pulled him on. He saw there was nothing else for it. Wings folded, tail tucked, head outstretched, he followed me into the mist.
Dampness clung everywhere. The chill bit to the quick. At least, the stink of the wildmen eased from the saddle and accoutrements. It was necessary to keep on hauling on the lead, pulling the beast along. His clawed feet clicked and clacked among the stones. He maintained a nasty hissing sound, which indicated not vicious anger but rather a sort of misery. No time to feel sorry for him. Somewhere ahead in the Pass of the Jaws of Laca Jaezila might be facing dangers that would appall a paktun...
The whole world of Kregen consisted merely of a silvery gray whirl. Nothing existed except the stones under my feet and the leather leading
