By the dawning of High Sun, the world around them was once again familiar.
Thæon had thought it would take him much long than four months to traverse the scattered islands of Elæg’s territory, and without Morak to aid him, it surely would have. But as it so happens, having his friend by his side, and Morak adept with shadow-travelling short distances come sun fall, the pair of them were able to cut hours, sometimes days out of their journey.
That in itself was how they were skip across the channels of Tuiluna’s divided islands; something that was much preferred by all parties over the endless rocking of a tide-bound boat on the choppy waves of the Stömsí ocean.
With Morak’s magic, Bröder’s stamina and Thæon’s promise pushing them ever onwards, they searched the northern expanse for any signs of Obí’s family in just under four months before realising the Elæg didn’t hold the prize they were searching for.
And so, when Thæon lifts his head, taking deep breaths from where he still wasn’t used to walking through the Shadow Realm, he is greeted with the familiar sight of the Grey Slopes rising up on the far horizon, the towering heights of Fellfrir’s Peak stretching taller than the clouds that crown her peak.
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