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Concavenator:
Perception of the world returned to Kukri gradually, accompanied by a sense of peace. To her own surprise, the world she perceived, limited to dark slivers of sky where the edge of the canvas fluttered up, did not fill her with horror. She checked all extremities; her relative serenity was not the euphoria of frostbite. She had, after all, survived a fearsome day, and was no worse off for it; and Giya had revealed herself a well-chosen guide.
pinkgothic:
There was still a heaviness to the world, the trace remnant of an instinct to stay tucked in under one's father's downs, but the horror of it all had lifted. It was a mild physical affliction now, remnants of aching to warn her from pulling the same stunt unnecessarily again.
Slowly, she twisted herself up from her position of slumber, shifting into a sit. There was no vivid spark of energy to drive her into enthused travel, just a visceral understanding that the journey was indeed possible.
For long moments, she sat simply in silence, taking in the geometry of their shelter, letting their situation diffuse through her mind, making sense of the last day's events with a fresh perspective.
They were lucky to be alive, on at least two counts, but there was little use in dwelling on it. But she was starkly aware of the way her intellect had shut down during the worst of it - fortunately to no detriment, with a solid intuition to take its place.
Mildly disappointed with her own ability to think straight, she scratched at a few of her feathers near jaw, collarbone, then her left shoulder, before finally moving quietly to fish something to eat out of their supplies, going by touch in the darkness.
Concavenator:
A tablet of dried meat, brittle as glass, shattered under her teeth. It tasted of little more than salt and smoke, but it restored a bit more lucidity in her. Yes, how easy to be lucid, when you're sitting safe and sound, huddling behind walls and filling your belly. She could not chide herself too much: better people than her had been driven to madness, or to death, or to both in succession, out on the Polar Fields. She had volunteered for this voyage with the arrogance of one who expected to do better; but without such arrogance, who would be here in the first place?
The dried meat was gone too quickly, and the temptation to reach for more was strong. The battle between Kukri's highest and basest qualities was decided by Giya beginning to stir, probably awakened by the rummaging, as the blanket she rested on wrapped around the box of food.
pinkgothic:
Even as Giya stirred, Kukri found herself longing for the return trip. She knew it wasn't the right thing to do at this point and it was easy to override the desire, but it was unmistakably there - to leave, return, let it be someone else's problem. Her body was convinced the readings she wanted to take couldn't possibly be that important.
Thankfully she disagreed.
“Were you able to rest well?” Kukri asked Giya, skipping any platitudes involving the time of day. She had little grasp of how much time had passed since they'd begun their journey, other than 'not nearly enough to get where we need to get' and 'too much for comfort'.
Concavenator:
“I rested,” was the answer. It was not obvious whether this was dry humor or Giya did not consider good rest to be a realistic occurrence. As far as Kukri could determine in the dim light, there was no obvious pain in Giya's posture and movement as she staggered to her own feet. And then: “And rest, did you? We can go, we can go on if you want”.
Even with the wind weaker, and the short-lived dawn approaching, to return to the march was not an inviting idea, especially as the ground was likely to become harsher. Yet the days of spring were not far.
pinkgothic:
Kukri considered the question. A part of her, the one raised in polite company, wanted to prompt Giya to feed herself before they continued on their journey, but given that they couldn't afford to squander their rations, it seemed wiser to rely on Giya's ability to schedule for her own needs and let her eat when she herself thought it wise.
“'Want' is a strong word,” Kukri offered in dry humour. “But I can continue the journey and it strikes me as wiser to continue it now. The quicker we return to Yakak'ratu from this excursion, the better for both of us.”
Even with those words thus spoken, she did not immediately move to make her statement a reality, deliberately granting Giya whatever time she needed to fully rise and tend to herself. Only slowly did Kukri begin to gather belongings, taking care not to infuse the situation with any undue haste.
Concavenator:
Giya rose with a precise movement, quiet except for the crackle of frost that had built up on her coat. She took her own share of dried meat, just enough to reawaken her body heat. She was quite different a creature, here in the empty wilderness, compared to the one Kukri had found in the temple's yard.
Kukri clambered onto a box to loose the canvas from its place. The wind was just as cruelly sharp as the night before, if not quite so heavy, and she felt an instant of sickness as the canvas threatened to fly away with it. It did not, and the two managed to fold it back into its sack. The crests of rock had been so convenient; one could believe the landscape had been fashioned for the sake of travellers, except for everything else about it.
A hint of deep blue, mixed with nine parts of black, and somewhat fainter stars behind them: they were still looking south, where the ground became higher and steeper, black unmixed against the sky. According to Giya, as long as they stayed on the uneven rocks, the yachakri would not dare hunt them. But the yachakri had good reason, as the rocks were sharp and slippery, here polished like mirrors by abrasive wind, there cracked open by swelling ice.
The guide finished latching her baggage onto her back and, breathing steam, took the first steps south.
pinkgothic:
Their route from here was slated to be a trade-off between low energy expenditure and safety, but with the help of Kukri's equipment and Giya's judgement of the landscape they could navigate the precarious rocks without completely crawling to a stop.
While it was practically impossible to make the slippery ice perfectly safe for climbing along - if certainly far more horizontally than vertically - Kukri's gear included grips that offered sufficiently poor thermal conductivity but plenty of roughness to maximise friction.
Their boots already followed that philosophy by obvious, practical design; now they each had one glove to help their hands in the same way. (The benefactors of Kukri's expedition had not thought to supply her with a second pair.)
And so, at the cost of a slightly more awkward posture, they could avoid having to rely purely on two legs for stability.
Concavenator:
Step by arduous step, they climbed up in search of a vantage point from which they could study their surroundings. They stayed on the frozen islands of rock as far as they could, rushing through the gulf of snow when necessary. It took roughly a couple hours for the dawn to through enough light onto the landscape.
Turning north, they could see the archipelagos of dark stone scattered below, even the narrow crack that had sheltered them during sleep, and beyond that an infinite rust-colored haze, the snowy plain where formidable predators still prowled. The clouds above were thin wisps, dark against the red glow of ice crystals suspended in the atmosphere.
Still some sixty leagues left to the edge of the glacier. Not impossible to cover in a few days. Kukri was suddenly seized by an ache to complete her mission as quickly as nature allowed; it could be done, she realized, looking back at the ground they had already covered. The wind blew and blew ever northward, and yet, somehow, had utterly failed to push them back.