It doesn’t take long before the summit path begins sloping sharply upwards. Your paws tremble as you grip the jagged rocks to pull yourself along. Soon, you are panting. You wish you were back in the quiet apothecary in front of a warm fire. Home, and all of its comforts, seems very far away.

The path twists higher, and the air grows noticeably thinner, searing your lungs. Halpra allows brief rests, but it never feels long enough. Your pack grows heavier and heavier.

Finally, you reach the summit. It’s so cold you can almost hear it – a thin whine in the air, like a claw riding on the rim of a delicate glass. You’ve never been at the top of a mountain, and you feel miniscule as you gaze at ridgelines that deepen into dizzying valleys of naked winter trees. The sky arches above, empty, rocky peaks pushing against it like fists.

Halpra holds up a paw, her other paw resting on her sword hilt. Ahead you see an old hare with a scarred face, leaning against a boulder. His body language is relaxed, but there’s an alertness in his gaze that tells you that he could leap at any moment.

“Hello,” Halpra says, very respectfully. He simply nods. She waits a moment, then adds “Requesting permission to cross the summit please.” She’s being respectful, as some animals are very territorial. The hare towers over all of you. He could easily knock you over the edge of the mountain if he wanted.