The moment Isabella's feet touched the warm sand of the lagoon's shoreline, her entire spirit melted.
She had been freezing on that horrible summit for so long that even the swampy humidity of the lagoon felt like luxury.
Well, it would have felt luxurious if not for one small detail.
She had caught a cold.
A terrible cold.
A cold so violent that her sneezes sounded like small explosions and her nose was completely red, shiny, and aggressively offended at the world.
Glimora was not doing any better.
The little creature had wrapped herself like a burrito around Isabella's waist and kept making tiny distressed squeaks every time the wind brushed past them.
Osiris, of course, walked beside them looking perfectly fine.
Well, fine physically.
Mentally, he looked like a confused father of triplets who had suddenly been handed two sick daughters without explanation.
"Are you breathing," Osiris asked for the seventh time in four minutes.
