Stol breathed hard as he ran, his boots crunching rapidly against the sheets of frozen tundra moss as each lungful of air sent a knife of cold stabbing deep down into him. A part of him– the part that that had been working around the ice sheets of Kaelac’s Bane for thirty years– urged him to slow down, to be more cautious, to remember that his frenzied movement might catch the attention of the ice mantises. Given what was behind him, at that point he was more than ready to take his chances with the mantises.