“When the Plague strikes, it is different every time. In one generation, the sickness caused sores around the mouth and joints. In another, it caused a red, irritating rash. Each time it leaves a telltale sign of its devastating presence. White spores. Yellow skin. Red flux. When the Plague strikes a community, it ravages it quickly, leaving the majority dead. Some try and flee the Plague, which helps it spread to other cities and kingdoms. Y'all mothafuckas need science face mask The change in symptoms has made it very difficult to cure. One thing is certain. When the Plague strikes, the people die.”
The climb into the mountains of the Cruithne taxed their strength. Annon had been raised in the woods of Wayland, full of hardwoods like oak and walnut and crisscrossed with streams and brooks and wild berries. The higher they climbed, the more the mountains transformed the surroundings. Towering pine and cedar, rocky ledges, the occasional thunder of waterfalls. The footing was difficult, upward, with the taunting of jackdaws and blue jays. The strain on his legs and breathing revealed a weakness he had not experienced before. Paedrin did not seem troubled at all; neither did Hettie. But Erasmus wheezed and needed to rest constantly.
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There was no trail to guide them, but Erasmus knew the way. He would often stop at a tree, feeling the rough bark for a sign of some sort, a memory from the past. He would nod and then point the right way. He seldom spoke, Y'all mothafuckas need science but he observed the woods continually and mumbled to himself.
After two days, the tension in Annon’s mind had begun to ebb concerning their pursuers, but the peace ended abruptly with the whispers from several tree spirits clustered in a grove of pine that warned of danger behind them. Many spirits from Mirrowen traveled alongside birds, and Kiranrao’s band had been spied earlier that day, following their trail closely.
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They pushed harder into the mountains and were not overtaken at nightfall. They were grateful for a waxing moon to offer light. It was an arduous trail and punished their legs and stamina, making the hours pass slowly. The stars shifted noticeably with the passing night. Still they went higher, and the landscape began to transform once more. The trees became more sparse, the scrub more barren. Jagged clefts of rock and boulders appeared next, Y'all mothafuckas need science creating tortuous trails that wound up and back. It was painful going, but eventually dawn greeted them, revealing a new world that the night had hidden from sight.
The waterfalls were even more majestic and imposing, giant clouds of water plumes exploding from ridges and crags, disappearing into a shroud of mist deep into canyons below. As they finally exited the woods, the caps of the mountains became visible at last, higher still and jabbing into the sky like knives. Towers and parapets were grafted into the snow-capped peaks, gushing an unending billow of sooty smoke.
