The journey back from the highlands began with a grueling trek. The air was thin and bit at their lungs, and Mild found himself stopping several times to catch his breath, his hands on his knees as he looked at the vast, snowy expanse they had covered on foot.
"Arm..." Mild panted, his breath coming in white plumes. "You walked all this way? From where the car died? It's miles. In that storm... in the dark?"
Arm stopped, his face flushed from the exertion but his eyes steady on Mild. He didn't look tired; he looked like a man who had finally found the air he needed to breathe. "I didn't count the miles, Mild. I only counted the seconds until I could see your face. Every time my legs felt heavy, I just thought about you and kept moving."
Mild looked at the tall, powerful man—the "Ice King" who was supposed to be untouchable—and saw the raw exhaustion behind his eyes. He realized then that Arm hadn't just come to find him; he had fought his way through the elements to reclaim him.
