Ulric gave a short nod before hauling himself into his saddle with less skill than usual. Esmund glanced once more at Elsie, refusing to listen to the voice in his head saying he'd just sealed their doom, and as if to echo its warning, snow began to fall.
What started as a light dusting that evaporated before touching the ground for the first few hours changed into giant snowflakes that clung with tenacity to everything it touched the further the group traveled toward North Fork.
Another fifteen minutes and they would begin ascending into the mountains along a deer trail. It was little more than four feet wide and hugged its way around the Southwest side of the mountain until it dropped into a steep descent. One misstep by the horses and rider and beast would be lucky if the seven-hundred-foot fall didn't kill them.
They rode single-file, with Ulric leading the way, followed by Piper and Elsie. Esmund brought up the rear, ponying the horses carrying the dead.
The temperature plummeted the further they rode along the path, and the snow increased its efforts until every protrusion along the mountain held over five inches and reached up past the horses' fetlocks.
By the time Esmund made his way through the path, the other mounts had cut through the drifts, and clumps of snow along the increasingly narrow path clung to the edge before toppling over. Esmund was confident they would soon be next.
His bottom was numb, his toes were so cold they almost felt warm, and his fingers were frozen around the reins. His eyelids were heavy with fatigue and threatened to close until Frisky slipped.
Esmund's eyes shot wide open, his stomach lurched, and his thighs gripped Frisky's ribs, shifting his weight as much as he dared to help Frisky regain his footing.
Loose stones scattered and rolled over the abrupt edge of the trail, plummeting down the side of the mountain. The rocks ricocheted against trees and boulders until their sharp, clacking 'tings' no longer reached his ears.
"Everybody watch your step," Ulric said as he glanced over his shoulder and met Esmund's unnerved gaze. "Stay calm, little brother, nothing bad is going to happen."
"You're a terrible liar, and we both know it," Esmund muttered. His heart pounded in his chest and echoed in his ears. It took twenty more minutes for it to resume its regular beat once the immediate danger had passed.
As they turned around the bend of the mountain and began the final descent, he stared in horrified silence. A wall of dense fog, not more than thirty feet away, blanketed the remaining trail and mountainside from view.
Elsie gasped and looked at Esmund, "Can we turn back?"
He wanted to say yes. It was madness to carry on in such conditions, and yet there was no other option they could take, not when attempting to turn around would put them in more danger. He shook his head and finally gave her an answer, "No, it's too narrow."
The blood drained from her face as the muscles of her throat worked over a painful swallow.
He forced an encouraging smile to his lips and ignored the panic thrumming to life in his veins. "Chester's a mountain horse, so you'll be all right."
"I have a terrible feeling about this," Elsie whispered as she faced forward once again, "I'll be horribly vexed with you, Esmund, if I die because of your stupidity and your brother's pigheadedness."
Ulric sat up straight and growled low in his throat, "I didn't make you follow–"
"She never said you did," Esmund interrupted, weary of the whole ordeal.
Piper cleared her throat, "Does it often snow in Wyoming?"
Even though she wouldn't have been able to see it, Esmund bit back a grin, "Yes."
"That was a wretched attempt at distraction, Piper," Elsie whispered, "especially since you already know the answer."
Five more minutes passed before Elsie shook her head and turned to Esmund, "Perhaps we should stop for a while; I can smell the fever rolling off his skin."
"I'm not fevered," Ulric shouted, tilting his face to the sky. "How many times do I need to say it for you all to believe me?"
"You could say it until you were blue in the face, and I still wouldn't believe you, you thick-headed Neanderthal," Elsie declared, "Not when the evidence is so strong against your ridiculous proclamation of health."
Ulric twisted in the saddle, anger evident in his tone, "Listen here, cat lady-"
Elsie sat up straight and interrupted him with a shake of her head, "I refuse to argue with someone in your state."
His lip curled as he glared at her. "I'm not in any kind of 'state.'"
"For someone not in a 'state,' you're awfully moody," Elsie replied with false sweetness.
"You don't know my life," he said, thumping his chest. "You don't know if I'm moody or if this is me being normal."
Elsie's back stiffened as she rested her hands on her hips and peered over Piper's right shoulder. "If I hadn't spent the last thirty or so hours in your glowing presence, perhaps I might agree with you, but I have, so I believe I am fully capable of knowing when you are moody."
Ulric ground his teeth and faced forward once more. "Elsie, need I remind you I have killed you once and will do so again if you provoke me further?"
"You don't frighten me, you hairless wonder," Elsie hissed. If she truly had been a cat, her hackles would be raised and her claws exposed, ready to fight.
Esmund rolled his eyes and barked, "Enough, the both of you!" Exasperation brought warmth to his frozen limbs and hardened his voice, "Ulric, she's died enough on this journey as it is, and you're both behaving like three-year-olds, so please, for all of our sanity, can we just focus on getting off this blasted mountain alive?"
Grumbled curses from his brother reached Esmund's ears. What could be wrong with him other than the fatigue they were all experiencing? On an average day, Ulric was an enjoyable combination—at least to Esmund—of grumpy and pleasant, but nothing about his demeanor today resembled his usual character.
There was a sudden tug on the lead rope from the horses carrying the corpses, so Esmund glanced back. The horse directly behind Frisky tripped again before shaking its head and blowing out a breath.
Esmund watched the other horses for a moment more as cold fingers of dread ran down his spine. His hands toyed with the lead rope wrapped securely around his pommel, wrestling against the urge to release it.
The current arrangement wasn't safe, especially with the frigid temperatures, but fatigue won out, and he kept it in place.
When Esmund turned back around, fog coupled with falling snow enveloped him, making it difficult to see the rump of Piper and Elsie's horse ten feet ahead.
White surrounded him everywhere he looked, swallowing up any evidence they traveled along a dangerous mountain pass. He strained to differentiate between the muffled hoof-beats of Toots and those of Chester, but they jumbled with Frisky's.
More than thirty minutes later, the fog grew thicker and blotted out everything in front of him in opaque white to where he could barely make out Frisky's blonde mane.
Esmund scanned the air around him, searching for a glimpse of color other than white, but there was nothing; no hint of blue where the sky ought to be, no green of the pine trees that he knew rose to majestic heights on his left, not even the buttery tan of Frisky's hide was visible through the fog.
Esmund's heart pounded against his ribs at a feverish pace, and his stomach alternated between dropping and flipping, the combination of which made him lightheaded.
His mouth was dry, and his heartbeat rang in his ears, drowning out all other noise as sweat dampened his brow and ran down his temples. He took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, stretched his neck, and rolled his shoulders. He did everything he could to ease the tension, but his muscles refused to relax.
A cold breeze lifted the hair off his nape, bringing the taste and smell of pine, earth, and snow. The fact he could see none of what he smelled only served to heighten his anxiety. They would end up riding off the blasted mountain and not even know it until it was too late.
Two terrified feminine squeals immediately followed the muffled clatter from up ahead.
His heart dropped to his toes, his mouth went dry, and his hands shook, "Elsie? Piper, are you two still there?"
Visions of the two women catapulting over the mountain's edge filled his mind over the next six seconds before Piper replied with a shaky tremor to her voice, "Y-yes, we're here."
"Ulric?" He could barely hear his voice; his blood was pumping louder than anything he'd said in the last minute. How was Ulric supposed to hear him through the fog? Esmund cleared his throat and tried again, "Ulric, how about you...you still doing alright?"
After what seemed to have been an eternity, Ulric gave his terse reply, "Yep, just peachy, little brother."
The fog thinned long enough to reveal the back of Elsie's head before obscuring his view again as she said, "I believe there's an excellent chance I'll die of fright before this day is through.
Over the past hour, my life has flashed before my eyes, and it wasn't splendid or remarkable; rather sad and depressing if I'm honest, and I can't imagine yours is any better, Piper, not after what I know happened to you."
"Elsie, please be quiet," Piper whispered. "I know you're frightened, but you're rambling and liable to say something you'll later regret, as you always do."
"I'm sorry, truly I am—it's just I've come to the stark realization I may only have two more deaths before I'm dead for good."
There was a brief pause before Piper said, "That can't be possible."
"Well, I've never been good at arithmetic," Elsie murmured, "but I've died three times since leaving Briarwood; add those to the others, and I believe that leaves me with two."
Esmund opened his mouth to reassure them that death would not be claiming any of them just yet, but the lead rope unexpectedly gave a sharp tug, and snapped Frisky backward. Esmund wasn't even exactly sure just how it all happened.
All he knew was that in one moment, he was listening to Elsie while monitoring the clenching and relaxing of muscles that came with each step Frisky took, and the next, he was struggling to defy gravity.
The packhorse directly behind him lost its footing and fell. Rocks crashed and rolled against each other, growing as loud as thunder over the next four seconds as Frisky struggled to remain on the road when his rear legs collapsed under the unexpected dead weight of the other horse.
Esmund's numb fingers fumbled with the frozen rope, trying to release it from the pommel, but by the time he worked it free, he and Frisky were falling over the side of the mountain.
For a moment, he felt weightless, as if he were floating, but the illusion shattered the second his left side connected with sharp rocks and thick trees.
Tumultuous noise assaulted him from every angle, reverberating down the mountain valley and sounding like he'd landed on a battlefield in the heat of cannon fire. Esmund closed his eyes so that he could see any color other than the dense white fog as he tumbled down the mountain.
Pain exploded throughout his body, and his lungs struggled to expand with air as Frisky rolled over him, crushing his left knee, lower back, chest, neck, and head before continuing his descent.
Bright and fantastic colors burst to life before his eyes, flashing in wondrous explosions with each collision against tree and rock in his path as he alternately skidded and fell his way down.
Dirt, bracken, pine needles, and small stones sprayed into his face, filling his mouth and stinging his skin until he was sure his flesh had been stripped from his bones and now lay hanging from one of the trees he'd fallen through.
Amidst the cacophony of noise, screams, and shouts from Ulric and the women slowly intruded as his body plummeted the remaining distance. He landed with a bone-jarring thud on the snow and rock-strewn soil of the canyon floor.
Blessed silence filled the air around him, and intense pain consumed every inch of skin, muscle, and bone. He attempted to gasp in a lungful of air and groaned in agony when his ribs protested the movement.
Birds chirped overhead as he forced his eyes open and blinked against the brightness of the sun's rays piercing through the clouds he'd fallen out of. A patch of blue sky winked at him before more heavy snow-laden clouds swallowed it.
Ulric's voice sounded hoarse when he shouted, "ESMUND!"
The metallic scent of blood soon permeated the air around Esmund and filled his mouth when he attempted to respond. Only a whimper escaped. With the amount and magnitude of pain roaring through his body, he'd be amazed if every bone hadn't been broken one thousand times over.
Warm liquid ran into his eyes and down his ears, but when he attempted to wipe it away, he discovered his body wouldn't obey his command. Not even a finger or toe twitched in response, and in that instant, the full force of his predicament settled upon him.
Even if the others managed to get down the mountain safely, Esmund would likely be dead before they were able to reach him. He coughed and spat blood from his mouth, but even more of the liquid pooled within his battered lungs.
Each breath became a struggle, and he lost the desire to fight. His eyelids fluttered and closed, and no matter how hard he tried to open them again, they refused to respond.
After a time, the rustling of branches and snapping of twigs in the distance reached his ears. Calm stole over him until he willingly succumbed to death's gentle embrace.