The frozen canyon floor of the Viper's Throat was barely three paces wide, squeezed tight between two sheer walls of black basalt that rose sixty paces into the night sky.
Icy mountain run-off had frozen across the bedrock in jagged sheets of black ice, making every step treacherous beneath the howling sub-zero wind.
Sagiri moved with silent, fluid grace along the eastern wall, his boots finding traction on the narrow gravel seams where the frost had not yet set.
The weight of the Living Memory burned in his chest, radiating a dull, steady warmth that kept the bitter cold from numbing his extremities.
Across his back, Nokai rested beneath its gray linen wraps, vibrating faintly in response to the necrotic trail hanging in the gorge.
The scent was stronger now. A thick, oily stench of chemical preservatives and stale biological fluids drifted up through the deep stone fissures ahead.
