The horse's breath came out in great vapors as they rode into the heart of Hjaalmarch, the cold becoming colder, the air becoming thin and embittered, the night waning. Hooves plunged deeper into the snow as they climbed the slope toward the Lycan's lair. The horse now moving in a prance-like gait in order to remain on its feet. Alaric and a male Red-Nord, Nistac by name, sat on the back of the black-as-pitch mammal as they ascended into the mountains toward their goal...
A plateau. A welcome respite in the treacherous journey. Alaric allowed the animal to slow, but not stop, no they could not stop. They had received a contract, a contract that must be fulfilled, even if under the guise of being pompous Vigilants and priests. Death must still be dealt when called for by the Black Sacrement... The boy behind him had nary a clue as to his true nature and intentions, his true self, and he was going to keep it that way, though it grew in difficulty as his hunger grew and as he progressed into the second stage of his rather unique 'condition'.
"How are you holding up? It shan't be long now." He suddenly removed one hand from the reigns and conjured a bit of fire in his hands to warm them and provide light for their path. He needed no such warmth nor light, his vampiric blood being naturally chilled and unaffected by the elements and giving him sight, but he didn't know about the boy and it was good for appearances if nothing else.