Now the contest between the two took a turn. No longer a race, there was only the waiting and the creeping cold. The avalanche poured by, taking only a few moments to move further down the mountain, but where the snow settled it settled as hard as concrete. Anyone caught beneath would be almost certain to freeze.

The King of Goats had been relatively unscathed, hunkered behind his rocky fortress with the foresight to seek suitable cover. He wondered if his foe had tried to replicate his actions, if he had taken cover behind one of the boulders closer to the middle of the avalanche it would have been swept away and likely killed him. There hadn’t been an avalanche that powerful in nigh on a decade, it seemed the mountain was pulling out all her stops for this new challenger. Interesting.

Havardr was fairly certain the race was no longer on, seeing as how his competition was probably dead. Regardless, he set off, watching the snow dotting the mountain far more carefully. If the avalanche had any positive effects it took the edge of the mountainside, levelling the terrain just enough so that it wasn’t quite a vertical climb. That part was coming though, the last leg as it were, he hated it. 

Striding through the teeth of a blizzard, Havardr hardly felt the cold, but if his foe had to remain stationary to survive the avalanche the cold would settle in his blood. It was going to be tough going from here to the fourth waystone.