"I'm tired of walking," I repeated, my voice barely more than a dry rasp as I leaned my weight against the side of a massive, glowing root.
My lungs were burning, and not in the "good workout" kind of way. It was that deep, hollow ache that comes when your body is fundamentally failing you. Level 10 was a prison. Every muscle fiber felt like it was being pulled tight by a violin peg, and the humidity of the Weald was making my clothes stick to me like a second, swampy skin.
"You look like you're about to drop, Ren," Lysandra said, stepping close enough to let me lean on her shoulder. She didn't look much better—her hair was a mess of knots and her cloak was shredded—but she still had that Paladin posture. Even exhausted, she stood like she was ready for a portrait.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just... give me a second. My legs are having a disagreement with the rest of my body."
