A wounded man's cry pulled the expedition off its route toward the low limestone depression ahead.
Vella waited for the wounded traveler to acknowledge her before closing the last two paces to his injured arm.
Near the base of a sharp scree slope, the forward scouts discovered a lone traveler huddled shivering against the damp rock face.
The man clutched a heavily bandaged right arm against his ribs, his hollow eyes wide with terror as he watched the swirling shadows shift.
Behind him in the swirling fog lingered a faint, translucent silhouette, resembling the sorrowful figure of a young mountain woman.
When the traveler opened his cracked lips to warn the approaching column, two completely distinct voices resonated from his throat simultaneously.
"Turn back... before the fog claims your names!" the man rasped, his voice intertwined with a soft, melancholic feminine echo.
