Atrel's vein continued to twitch. Arn watched his father wince each time he heard their companions yell. The horses, just a few steps ahead, were blissfully unaware of the commotion and trudged on, up and down the path. Their powerful legs propelled them with ease, the weight of supplies hardly affecting their gait.

"Eh," Arn's father sighed, "to be one of the Yaelen Luel and to charge through the pass at full speed," his father said.

"You want to be a horse?" Arn chuckled.

"What? Oh, spirits - I didn't intend to speak it out loud."

Behind them, the yells intensified. Finally, Atrel had had enough.

"Keep your blasted voices down!" he yelled at their companions, not following his own orders.

They argued back and forth, making as much - if not more noise than before. Arn hadn't seen his father so caught up in a heated exchange in a long time. Even uncle Doren didn't often get so deep under Atrel's skin.

"If you're not afraid of wild beasts that might carry your child away, you might concern yourself with causing an avalanche!" his father shouted.

While the two men argued, Athny had somewhat calmed down, undoubtedly exhausted by his running and climbing. His mother struggled with heavy bags and the baby both - the family still refused to use the horses and insisted on carrying most of their supplies themselves.

Before Arn could say a word to his father, he noted the Yaelen Luel freeze just up ahead - the two horses looked eastward. Suddenly, they bolted forward upon the path, moving faster than Arn'd have thought possible over such terrain.

While they all gawked at the horses, a loud crack exploded somewhere nearby, then a deep rumble reverberated through the snow and trees. It shook everything around them; the woman fell to the ground, her packs opened and spilled their contents.

"Avalanche!" his father yelled, "coming from the east ridge, run!" It was then that he saw the woman and the spilled contents, "leave it, you fools, you'll die! Run!" he yelled.

The family ignored him and were frantically stuffing their things back into their bags. Meanwhile, the rumbling intensified. Arn felt the powerful vibrations in his chest. The avalanche rushed at them down one of the slopes upon the eastern ridge.

"We should help!" Arn said and bolted towards the others, but his father held his arm.

"No, they won't let you, and it is too late anyway! You need to run to that rocky hill over there! Go now!" his father yelled. Arn looked back at the family, the mother still holding her baby, both the father and the young child were packing their belonging. They'd never make it, he thought.

"I can't le-"

Arn's father grabbed him by the shoulders, so tightly that it hurt even through all his layers.

"You have to run!" he shouted. Suddenly Arn saw his father's flushed face and the sweat that bead upon his brows and streamed down his temples.

Was that steam rising off of him? Arn wondered briefly as his father shook him and yelled again. He tried to argue, but Atrel held his face. His eyes met Arn's, and the immense struggle within them stalled his words. Atrel's hands felt hot, nearly burning against his skin.

"Please," his father pleaded, "you have to run, please!"

Arn nodded, stepped back, then ran to the stony hill south of them. Of all the events of today, this was by far the most alarming. He looked back as he ran. Atrel remained in place for a few moments, then walked to within twelve feet of the family. They were almost done by now, but it didn't matter - they'll never make it.

Arn had just reached the hill. It rose a good twenty feet above where his father stood and was nearly out of the way of the avalanche. The rumbling became deafening as a wall of powdery snow sped towards them. His father wouldn't make it out either. Why'd he stayed?

Arn yelled, but the rumbling and roaring of the avalanche drowned all other sounds. His father stood, facing the oncoming snow, and now steam rose from his body in truth. Atrel took a deep breath and let out a savage yell, so powerful it overcame the thunderous snow.

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This finally drew the attention of the family, who jumped to their feet and began to move back - was it fear that Arn saw upon their faces?

The snow around Atrel melted too. It sizzled and steamed a few feet in each direction. The sudden moisture from the melted snow turned the earth into mud, then the mud dried and hardened. Arn's father raised his arms and braced himself with his left leg.

The family, who was backing away, staggered and shook. They seemed unable to move, then each fell to the ground, struggling to hold themselves up even while on all fours. Arn briefly wondered about that; just as a wave of pressure hit him, it sent shivers down his spine, and goosebumps washed over him in waves. The pressure weighed him down - it was all he could do to stay upright.

Then came the avalanche. Arn's heart lurched, he yelled against the thunder and rumbling, but there was no hope. The massive wave of snow crashed into his father, then burst upwards as a massive white plume.

The mass of snow split as water against a rock. It flowed and tumbled to each side of where his father stood. Large chunks of solid snow and debris flew upward and away. The pressure he felt earlier rose and threatened to overwhelm Arn even from that distance.

A crater was forming behind the split, just large enough to protect the family, who huddled together and shivered so intensely it could be seen from Arn's vantage point. Snow piled in two massive mounds to either side of his father. The pressure wave peaked just as the avalanche abated, and all at once, it was over.

The family jumped to their feet as soon as silence fell and the pressure was lifted. First, they stared at Arn's father in horror, then they ran away. The mother carried the baby, the father hauled Athny and the few precious packs they managed to collect thus far.

Arn gazed at their abandoned possessions - possessions that they nearly died for. That they almost killed him and his father for. Arn watched them, and anger rose within him, but it was quickly overwhelmed by fear over what he had just witnessed.

He rushed to his father and saw him stand in an area of naked earth about six feet in each direction. A massive wall of hard-packed snow split to either side of him. It was at least twelve feet tall. Arn froze. What did he just witness? The memory of Rana's scroll flashed in his mind. His father turned slowly, saw Arn, then turned back towards the snow.

"Dad!" Arn yelled, finally finding his voice, "dad," he repeated more quietly.

"Stop," Atrel growled.

"What?"

"Don't," he hissed.

"Dad," Arn whispered, "it's ok, right? It's over?"

"Run," Atrel replied.

"What are you talking about?"

"Run! You have to run!" his father yelled.

"You stopped it, the avalanche is stopped, I already returned from the hill, you said earlier to run..."

"You don't understand, son." Arn flinched from the heavy sadness in his father's voice.

"But it's over! We just need to find, to find the horses, that's all we need, then we can -"

"They are already coming," his father whispered, and the sadness was gone from his voice, replaced by something cold and foreign. Arn never heard this tone from his father. He took an involuntary step back.

"Who? There's no one here!"

"You met one of them at the stables, at the Old Fort, didn't you?"

Arn shuddered. His father knew? How? "What? No, it's not - it wasn't about you, I can explain -"

"It isn't a blame, son," his voice became calmer with every word, but the cold undertone remained. He still looked at the snow. "There is much you don't know. You need to trust me on this."

"I can come with you," Arn said, "please," he whispered.

"Don't make it harder, son," his father turned back, and Arn saw that there were tears in his eyes too.

"You have a chance. You must double back through the Aaro Woods, a few hours at most, then return to the trail. By then, I'd have led them away. You will be able to reach the Tower of Het. From there, the road to Naradael is easy."

"Come with me, double back with me!"

"I can't come," he then looked somewhere in the distance, "they are already on their way."

"No, please, I'll come with you then! Don't leave me here!" he yelled the last part. It is then that he felt the fear. The darkness of that cell in Kalarhan wasn't what scared him - it was the isolation, the complete loneliness. The fear of it crawled and clawed into him, its dark tendrils twisted around his heart. Arn struggled to remain upright.

Atrel's face twisted, then hardened. "You need to leave now! No matter what your fear is, you can overcome it. We will meet once more if you go now!"

"No...I can't," he whispered.

"Go!" his father yelled, and the steam once again rose from him, and the wave of pressure hit Arn a second time. However, unlike before, his own body nearly vibrated in response. What is this? A small part of him wondered. The fear of being alone now, the weight of his loneliness in the cell, the desperation and inability to do anything against Rana, De'al, and now his father - all melded into a single roiling mass.

His body shook. His mind shook. Fear slowly faded and in its stead rose a mighty anger.

Old anger that took its time to grow, dense anger that didn't simply blow in one spectacular flash. It was an anger that pushed the pressure away, that made him brave against the world.

"Fine," Arn growled at his father. Their eyes met, and Atrel flinched.

"Son, you misunderstand..."

"I don't think so," Arn whispered. For once in his life, he had something to banish his fear, something to help him take control.

Atrel's expression saddened. A distant part of Arn's mind hurt from that, but that part was too afraid to face the world, and so it remained buried deep under the anger.

"I'll be fine," Arn said and turned away from his father. He walked off towards the Aaro forest, then began running.

Arn didn't see his father's shoulders as they shook after he left. He didn't see Atrel fall to his knees and weep.