Otatso Wetlands This race is a prophecy.

If he never saw the mountains again, it would be too soon. The snow remained heavily draped across the hills as he ran, plunging ahead in to the unknown and away from all the heartache of Duskfire. Yes, he was leaving Maera behind. Yes, he had split from Tuwawi - in a way. They were estranged. Their relationship was difficult now, and had become another factor for his abandoning of the glacier. But he didn't see himself as abandoning anyone; he would come back. He had to return at some point - but for now, Njal just ran.

He didn't know where he was going. There was nothing guiding him, nothing to look forwards to, but everything to run away from. The clouds - heavy and drifting, filled with ice - mirrored the snow-covered field which he sloughed through. Big and white - just whiteness, everywhere. The distant horizon was a thin grey line, like washed out ink, and no matter how much closer he got to it, the faraway trees and familiar mountain range never darkened.

'I could go back. I could turn around right now and return home.' Njal thought, but as he did, his pace increased. There was a tightness in his chest, a weight, which felt like it would squeeze the life right out of him if he so much as thought about Duskfire. 'I could go to Swiftcurrent. Bazi is there - but, she'll ask questions.' He did not want to explain. He did not want to talk about the broken family, with all their hopes and dreams turned to ash among the snow.

All he wanted was to be free of it. Free, like the clouds. He just had to keep on running.