From the journal of Olin Ildomeshtan
I let my eyes close and nod off for one second and suddenly I’m thrown to the side of the cart as that idiot Iden bleats at the reigns. We’re sliding sideways down a steep, snowcovered slope, with the yaks that had, just one second prior, been slowly taking us along the cliffs now watching us dissapear into the drifts, a confused look on their faces. Confused for a yak. I mean, basically, how they normally look.
We ended up in some sort of snow pit, the axles damaged beyond repair. We’ll have to set up camp here, and quickly, before we all freeze to death. Iden has taken to rolling about in the snow and quietly chuckling to himself. I still can’t believe they talked me into taking him along.