There are no roads, just several feet of snow. It sucks. The only reason they're able to stay on track at all is by ensuring that the Frostbacks are behind them, and then marking the direction of the buffeting winds, which are doubtlessly blowing off the Waking Sea that separates Orlais from the Free Marches.

Travel is mostly silent, for the simple reason that nobody can hear one another. But camp is a different story: a cozy fire, tents of skin and blankets of fur, and usually a winter-fat rabbit or deer to share between the small party.

Teren is characteristically quiet at these times, but in anticipation of their misery she at least had the foresight to bring a cask of good brandy to keep their blood flowing, and she shares it out generously.

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