The gang labours under the crates’ weight. Glass bottles clink within.
No one has tasted a sip, beyond the coral substance that gave Fassn wings. The wings are already fading some — he can no longer hover at will. His skin is unnaturally pallid.
Shyan plots a route south and they follow it for fourteen days. She’s not certain the sun is the same one they knew before the portal in the throne, but she’s certain the climate is warming as they travel.
On the fifteenth day, they arrive at a massive palisade, built of grey and yellow bones. Most of the crates survive the journey.