"Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold."

-The Hobbit

Loki sat back in the white cushioned seat and glanced out the oval-shaped window to his right. He could see nothing—just blackness, and the occasional flash of a light out on the wing. A dull hum surrounded his hearing—the deep vibration of the machine, very quiet, ran through him from his heels to his chest. He set his elbow on the armrest, propped his chin in his hand and stared out into the dark.

Jane sat across from him in the belly of this metal beast, on the other side of a small, stationary table. His gaze flickered across her form—he was careful not to let it linger. He didn't want her to catch him looking at her.

She was dressed warmly in her boots, blue jeans, sweater and gray jacket. Her hair hung down around her shoulders, as it looked prettiest. Strands of it caught the light of the soft overhead lamp, which turned them red or gold. She rested back in her chair, her head tilted toward the window, her dark eyes distant. A line stood between her eyebrows. Loki made himself turn away, back to the window. Though her eyes were dim with weariness and dull worry marked her brow, it made him ache to realize how beautiful she was.

She let out a low moan and shifted in her chair. Loki tried not to attend to her, but he had no choice—his gaze was pulled back to her face without his consent.

"I can never sleep on a plane," she murmured, her black lashes closing as her brow tightened. "I don't suppose there's any magic that can help with that?"

"I'm have little experience with planes," Loki answered quietly, locking his gaze upon the window and refusing to move it.

"I wish I'd thought to bring a book," she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. "Then you could read to me. It helped before."

Loki clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, just for an instant, as piercing pain traveled down his throat. He didn't answer her, and he didn't ask if she was cold, or if he could do anything for her. He felt her open her eyes and study him—felt her concern roll out from her like a wave onto the beach. But he would not move. And for the rest of the flight, they were silent.

LLLLLL

Jane let out a shivering huff and tossed her bag down on her narrow bed in the closet-like, dark room. The springs of the mattress squeaked in protest. She unzipped her jacket, moved to take it off, then thought better of it as the cold invaded her chest.

"I'm surprised I can't see my breath in here," she muttered, hurrying over to the thermostat by the door. She made a face. It was pinned at eighty degrees already. Clearly, it was not working.

By the light of a full, crisp moon, Stark's plane had touched down at a remote airstrip outside of Jasper. Happy, Stark's man, had trudged down the ladder with them, carrying Jane's bag as he escorted her and Fenris across the icy tarmac to the rented rooms near the control tower. The wind had sliced right through Jane's jacket and jeans, and they all had to duck their heads against the frigid gusts as they hurried along—though Fenris seemed less bothered by it than the other two.

Now, Jane was set up in the larger of the two available rooms—Happy had told them over and over that this was the best Stark could get them in this area, and he apologized so sincerely that Jane felt bad if she even mentioned how frigid it was inside. Fenris' keen eyes had caught everything, though he did not speak as he walked on to his room right next to hers.

Jane took a shower and got ready for bed—mercifully, there was semi-hot water, though she could barely fit inside the shower—and she put her jacket on over her pajamas. Shivering, she threw the covers back on her bed and crawled inside, tucked herself in snugly and shut off the light. The lights from the tower glowed through the dim window shades. She lay there for a moment, then shifted to get more comfortable. The box springs screeched.

"Oh, wonderful," she groaned. She adjusted her head on the pillow and drew her knees up to her chest, trying to stay very still. She was so tired, but it was so cold, and the bed was hard and strange—she didn't know how she'd ever get to sleep. She stared at the far wall, and at the outline of the stupid thermostat that wouldn't work.

Absently, she pulled out the Lokistone from under her collar and rubbed it between her fingers. She closed it in her hand and pressed it to her throat. But it stayed cold, like a chip of ice that wouldn't melt.

In all their hours of travel, Fenris had been all stillness and silence. Like keeping company with a total stranger. And his gaze never found hers.

Jane shifted her bed, nuzzling down into the pillow as she let out a fractured sigh. Then she berated herself. It was possible that his mood had nothing to do with her at all, and everything to do with the Cube—and his ability to get back home.

Her thoughts snagged on that, and lingered.

The cold seeped down into her bones, and the heavy silence stretched on into the dark.

After several hours, she managed to drift into uneasy sleep—but all night she dreamed as if she was looking for something she couldn't identify, and she could never find it.

LLLL

Snow crunched beneath two sets of boots. Jane's breath made clouds of vapor wreath her head as she trudged forward through the unbroken field of brilliant white.

A two mile open stretch rolled ahead of them, hills like mounds of sugar, sparkling in the sharp midday sunlight. Beyond that, a thick, unmoving black forest stood like an army of petrified giants—and that blanket of a forest spread on, its ripples rising and climbing upon the backs of gradually steepening rocks, until, far on the horizon, the slate-gray, ice-coated mountains knifed high into the sky, vast and silent and forbidding.

Jane glanced straight up, squinting. The sky was pale blue, crystal clear, and unadulterated by a single cloud. Still, it had to be only about fifteen degrees out here. She stared at the peaks of the distant, jagged mountains as she marched. They seemed so near—yet she could feel in her bones how far away they were, and that they were too colossal and cold for her to fathom.

She glanced over at Fenris, who walked ahead of her and to her right. He wore leather gloves, and an ankle-length woolen black coat that belonged to Erik—it had thick gray fur around the collar. He also wore the leather shirt and trousers he had brought from Asgard, and the boots that went with them. His boots cut through the calf-deep snow easily—he was so tall—and the cloak swept and swished behind him, marking the surface of the snow with feather-like trails.

Jane took deep breaths, long strides, and made herself keep up with him. He had packed her bag in his "storage closet in limbo," so neither of them carried anything. That was a relief to Jane, because they had been walking for several hours without a break.

As Jane trudged, the weightless snow kicking up around her boots and showering through the air like pixie-dust, she bit her lip against saying anything. His jaw was tight, his head low, and odd, delicate lines now formed between his eyebrows. The snow seemed to give way in front of him is if it was mist.

After another hour of hiking, they crossed into the forest. Gray shadows covered them. Pine trees crowded the edges of their narrow track, every black trunk coated with frost. Jane couldn't see any green needles as she studied the boughs—every broad branch hung heavy with snow and ice, drooping like overly-laden feather-dusters. The trees hid the mountains and blocked the light. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. And the cedars seemed to watch them from far over their heads.

The snow stood deeper here—almost up to her knees. She didn't say anything about it. She'd lived in Sweden, after all—she wasn't going to complain. But Fenris' pace never slowed. Jane gritted her teeth. She would not fall behind.

They followed the track up a gradual incline. Sometimes, the path narrowed so that they had to walk single-file between the sentinel trees—bits of snow fell from the lower branches when they passed, dotting the pristine white blanket around them, or landing on their shoulders. Other times, the trail twisted upward through rocks and saplings so treacherously that they had to scale it very carefully, placing each footstep in the exact right spot, or risk falling all the way back down. Fenris always ascended first—with light, quick steps—and then he would turn and watch her climb up. Jane never lost her balance and only slipped once—but she caught herself. He didn't say anything. And when she'd straightened up and nodded to him, dusting the snow off her gloves, he'd turned and kept going.

The shadows turned grayer, until the snow looked almost blue. Jane took a glance above and behind them. The sun was going down. She slowed down and let out a long breath. Vapor gusted from her lips. It was very cold.

She stopped. Her legs ached and her fingers and nose felt frozen. She looked back at Fenris. He slowed, then turned and faced her.

For a moment, he studied her. He lifted his eyebrows, and glanced down. Then, he turned right and left the track. Frowning, Jane followed him, quickening to a trot.

He swept through the trees, the edges of his coat brushing through the thin twigs of leafless bushes. Jane kept on his heels, stepping in the imprints his boots had left—for the snow was much deeper here.

They climbed a hill—Jane had to grab a few tree trunks to pull herself along—and Fenris paused when they reached the top. Panting, Jane came up next to him.

In the dim light, she could see a river, frozen on the edges but still flowing in the middle. On the far side leaped a great black cliff. On this side, a rocky peninsula jutted out into the water. The end of the peninsula broadened, and seven towering trees grew in the middle of it, standing in a circle.

"That will do," Fenris muttered. Jane's gaze flew to him—the sound of his voice surprised her. But he didn't wait. He started down the hill, through the trees, almost disappearing in the gathering dark.

Jane slipped down after him, and felt the ground change beneath the snow from earth to round stones. In the distance, she could hear the soft rush of the river. She trailed after Fenris' footprints and followed him down the peninsula. White, churned ice sat on either side: tides and currents frozen in a moment.

Finally, just as the sun dipped behind the mountains, they got to the trees at the end. Jane slowed, gazing up at them as she stepped between two trunks. The trees had grown so close together that their branches intertwined, covering the sky completely. It was like she was stepping into a living, wooden church.

"It's very dark," she murmured. "What are we—"

A crackling sound stopped her. She could barely make out Fenris' form kneeling on the ground, pushing brush together into a pile. Then, he stood up, took off his gloves and held out his left hand. He snapped his fingers.

Blue flames leaped up from his pile of tinder, blazing through the little hollow and lighting up his full form in sharp contrast of light and shadow. Jane gasped and stepped back.

He waved his hand over the fire—and the blue softened, and turned into a pale gold. Then, he put his gloves in his pockets, pressed both hands to his chest, took a deep breath, then exhaled as he raised his hands over his head.

A deep thud sounded—Jane felt it more than she heard it—and something humming and invisible began far above them, and trailed and trickled down all around them like a dome until it touched the ground…and sealed. Fenris pushed his hands outward, then dropped his arms.

And the next moment, it felt as if Jane had stepped into a warm living room with a fire in the fireplace.

The soft light from the fire filled the space, flickering against the branches and trunks. Jane pushed back her hood and unzipped her coat, her face tingling with warmth.

Fenris turned his back on the flames and began striking his hands together, as if he were dusting them off. Jane blinked and jumped back again. Blinding blue flashes leaped from his palms, and things began materializing out of thin air and tumbling to the ground: a pot stand, canned food, a can opener, bread, utensils, bottled water, Jane's bag, his bag, then a neatly-folded blue bundle that made up her tent, and another neat bundle of green velvet.

Jane watched, transfixed, as Fenris pointed offhandedly at the spit-like pot stand, snapped his fingers, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. The metal rods flew past him through the air and assembled themselves over the fire, waiting for a pot to be hung. Then, he gave a deliberate look to Jane's tent, slapped his right hand with his left and then motioned sharply upward with his fingers. The tent billowed to life, and with a sudden rattling of poles, came together in an instant and stood right beside her. He turned and did the same thing to the bundle of velvet. It leaped up into a more old-fashioned shape, like a military tent, and seemed to hold its form with no supports at all.

The Lokistone sat warm against Jane's skin—it took a second for her to find her voice.

"Ha!" she finally managed, grinning. "I guess you'd call that 'practical' magic?"

"I suppose so," Fenris answered, sweeping his critical gaze across everything. Jane, still dazzled, stepped forward and picked up two cans of rich stew.

"It's fantastic," she declared, realizing she now had an opening to ask about the stone. "Come tell me about it! Here, come over here and sit while I make supper." She started toward the fire.

"No, thank you," he answered, pulling off his coat, picking up his bag and striding to his tent. "The shield I put around us makes us silent and invisible. You can pass through it and leave it behind, but you cannot get back in. It's best not to wander. Goodnight." And he pushed his tent flap aside and disappeared.

Jane's smile vanished. She stood there alone, staring at the fallen velvet, holding both cans limply in her hands. She glanced down at them, then bent and put one of the cans back with the rest of the food. She picked up a bottled water and the can opener and moved to the fire.

She took her time opening the can, pouring the water into the pot and hanging it over the fire, then stirring it with a long-handled wooden spoon she'd pulled from the neat pile of utensils she'd found wrapped in a towel. She burned her fingers once on the hot metal, winced, but made no sound—and she ate slowly enough to keep from scalding her mouth. Then, after cleaning up supper, she constructed a makeshift wash and brushed her teeth and combed out her hair and braided it.

She paused, glancing back at the fire before she went into her tent. It hadn't died down, but neither had it spread. She blinked. It was enchanted, of course—it would stay exactly where he wanted it for as long as he wanted it there. She turned her head, and for a long moment, she watched his tent. No sound came from inside. She took a breath, and almost called "good night." She stopped herself, swallowed and ducked her head. She rubbed her fingertips back and forth on her forehead, then stepped into her tent.

She got all ready—put on her pajamas, rolled out her sleeping bag and put her pillow down, then crawled inside. Everything here felt softer, warmer, quieter and safer than the place she had slept last night. It was dark—but not too dark—she could still see the flicker of the fire.

Jane turned over on her side and pulled her arms close to her chest, pressing her burned fingers to her lips.

Her throat choked and her brow twisted—she clamped the muscles in her chest, and didn't make a sound. But tears blurred her vision, and soon trailed down her nose and cheeks, dripping onto her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and let them flow as the distant fire crackled, and the icy river murmured beyond the border of Fenris' shield.

LLLLL

Jane shivered and beat her hands together as she trudged. Fenris glanced back at her and lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm fine," Jane told him. He faced forward again and kept walking. Jane cleared her throat and adjusted her hood. Night was falling again—they had been walking all day—and it was cloudy. Very small snowflakes had begun to wander down and settle. She could see the icy flakes on Fenris' ebony hair and coat. Silence surrounded them. It was so quiet, except for their footsteps, that Jane could almost hear a faint ringing in her ears.

They traipsed down a shallow canyon where she supposed a river had once lived. It wound and twisted—it was anything but a direct path—but Jane didn't ask about their course. She didn't have to. Everything about his posture told her that he was trying to keep them hidden. She just didn't know how long he meant for them to hide.

The canyon finally ended, and Fenris hopped up the icy rocks and climbed out. Jane bit her lip and followed him.

She put both hands on the stones in front and above her and started up, mindful of where she put her feet. Fenris' dark, lean form waited over her head. Huffing, she climbed as quickly as she could, and finally stood up at the top. For half a second, she balanced.

Then, her left foot slipped. She jerked backward. Her heart plummeted.

Fenris moved.

His arm snaked around her waist, and the next instant he pulled her sharply into his chest. Her hood fell back. She grabbed the front of his coat.

She looked up at him. They froze.

It was only then that Jane realized she was standing on his feet.

His deep emerald eyes locked with hers for a moment, then flicked over her features—and his brow softened. He raised his eyebrows.

"Are you all right?" Vapor issued from his lips. Jane studied his mouth for a moment, then blinked and nodded.

"Yes," she managed, unable to look away from him. "Thank you."

His expression changed again—tightened, sharpened—and he swallowed. But he didn't pull away from her either. Suddenly, Jane didn't want him to. He was so warm, and his arm felt strong around her—especially when her knees felt weak…

He let go of her—not quickly, thankfully, or she may have fallen again—backed up, inclined his head, then faced forward again.

"We need to make it to that stand of trees by nightfall," he declared, and resumed his long strides. Jane stood for a long moment, trying to catch her breath, then nodded hard and followed him.

LLLLLL

By the light of the small fire outside, Jane rolled out her sleeping bag in her tent, laid out her pillow and pajamas, and folded up her coat, snow-pants and gloves. She wore her jeans, boots, sweater and jacket, which were enough to keep her warm inside the shield. Her only trouble was that, all evening, hot and cold chills had been racing through her, originating from her chest. She tried to shake it off as she folded back the top of her sleeping bag, but her hands felt unsteady. Finally, she stood up, looked over everything, and made herself take a deep breath. Then she turned, pushed the slick tent flap out of the way and stepped back out into their new "room."

Fenris' shield had banished all the snow from the ground, leaving dry pine needles behind as a carpet. All around the campsite, a thick, black forest stood like a wall, towering over them, leaving no chink through which to see the sky. The fire, which stood exactly between both tents, flickered and crackled, filling their space with soft gold light and deep shadow. And Fenris sat cross-legged in front of the fire, the light lingering and dancing across him. Jane went still, her breath leaving her.

He wore his leather clothes from Asgard, the long tails of his coat spread out behind him. His arms rested on his legs, and he touched one pale hand to the other—he slowly drew a circle in the palm of his right hand with the forefinger of his left. His raven head was bowed—a few strands of hair, black as night, hung down across his white brow, and his long-lashed eyes followed the subtle movement of his hands. Once in a while, when the fire sparked, a glint of light crossed his eyes, turning them from black to a flicker of jade.

Jane's gaze traced his forehead and his nose, the soft shape of his lips, the curve of his chin and his jaw line, the form of his cheek bones and the glow against his skin; the way his head tilted, and the subtle furrow between his hawk-like, ink-dark eyebrows. She studied the broadness of his chest and shoulders, yet realized how graceful he seemed, even as he sat virtually motionless.

Then he lifted his face, just an inch, and stared across the fire into the woods. And the light illuminated his eyes, glittering across them, filling them with color—and it deepened the contours of his flawless face, revealing a breathtaking pain in the depths of him that stopped Jane's heart.

He was absolutely beautiful.

Jane began to tremble, and half of her wanted to retreat back into the tent. But that raw aspect that cut across him pulled at her heart, and so she stepped forward.

He heard her footsteps, and lowered his eyes again, folding his hands. She hesitated, then sat down close to his left, turned slightly toward him. The warmth of the fire touched her. She gazed out over the flames to the depths of the forest, and clasped her hands in her lap.

"What has roots as nobody sees,
Is taller than trees," she murmured.
"Up, up it goes
And yet never grows?"

Only the crackle of the fire answered her for a long moment. Then, she heard his voice

reply—low and rough.

"This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town
And beats high mountain down."

She tilted her head, and watched his hard profile as the flamelight glimmered across it.

"Look at me," she said quietly. He swallowed, stayed where he was, then slowly turned his face toward her. For along moment, he just stared at the ground. Then, he blinked, and lifted his bright eyes to hers. An ache went straight through her.

"Are you all right?" she murmured earnestly. "You have those lines between your eyebrows again…" She lifted her hand, and stroked her thumb up the bridge of his nose and across his left eyebrow, smoothing the tension. She did it again, softly, and his eyelids fluttered. Again, and his brow relaxed and he closed his eyes.

Jane's hand lingered as her heart pounded—she reveled in the feeling of touching his face. So she turned her hand and caressed his smooth, warm forehead with the backs of her fingers, then smoothed the strands of hair back behind his ear.

He opened his eyes. She lowered her hand. For a long moment, neither of them moved or breathed—they simply held each other's gaze.

Then, he blinked, and focused down near her throat. His brow furrowed, and then cleared altogether. His lips parted as his eyebrows went up.

"What is that?"

Jane's hand flew to her neck—and her fingers landed on the Lokistone pendant. It had come out of her shirt.

"It's the stone you gave me," she answered, rubbing it and tipping her head down. "I didn't like the idea of putting it in a box, and I didn't want to keep it in my pocket because I knew I'd do something silly like wash it—so I had a jeweler put in a setting. Do you like it?" She lifted her head again to see him. He was already staring at her, as if he was looking right through her—yet it was as if he was seeing her for the very first time.

"Yes," he whispered. Jane glanced into the fire, trying to collect her thoughts—she knew she couldn't do that if she kept meeting his eyes.

"I was actually wondering about it—I've been wondering about it," she admitted.

"Oh?" he said faintly.

"Yes. It seems to respond when you do magic—it lights up, or gets warm," she explained, finally looking at him again. "Why do you suppose that is?"

For a long time, he said nothing, and that troubled tension came back to his brow. He searched her eyes, and swallowed. Then he looked down.

"I imagine, since it is made of magic," he said. "It makes perfect sense for it to respond when magic is performed."

"So what about the person who stole the Cube?" Jane wondered. "Would it do anything when he performed magic?"

He shook his head.

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

"Because this is from Asgard," he pointed to her pendant. "And his magic isn't."

"Are you sure?" Jane asked. He shrugged one shoulder and glanced into the fire.

"Try something, then," she suggested. "Conjure something, and we'll see what it does."

He looked at her again—as if he didn't want to, as if he was trying not to—but he did. Then, he faced forward, placed his palms together, then pulled them apart.

A blue light flashed—and the Lokistone heated in her palm.

"It did it!" she said. "I felt it—it got hot! It…What is that?" she asked, forgetting the stone instantly. For now he held a long, slender stringed instrument in both hands. It looked rather like a thin lute, but it was silver, and its surface color seemed to swirl like a deep river.

"It's an Asgardian instrument—I forgot I had it with me," he answered, sliding his fingers across the strings. A soft, jingling hum issued that sent chills down Jane's spine.

"You have to play it," she breathed, her eyes fixed on it. Then she watched his face. "Can you?"

The edge of his mouth quirked. He pulled it closer to him, held the neck in his right hand, and set the fingertips of his left hand on the strings. He lifted his chin, set his shoulders, and began.

Swift, delicate notes rang softly through the silence. Jane held her breath so she wouldn't miss a note, transfixed by the deft movement of his fingers.

And then he drew in another breath and began to sing.

"Blow northerne wynd!
Send to me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd! blow, blow, blow!"

His voice was light and pleasing, smooth and resonant—and the words, though Jane could not understand them—sounded complex and lovely in his mouth.

"Ichot a burde in boure bryht,
That sully semly is on syht,
Menskful maiden of myht;
Feir ant fre to fonde;

In al this wurhliche won
A burde of blod ant of bon
Never yete y nuste non
Lussomore in londe."

Jane's heart suspended—the air shimmered with the sound, and a tingling warmth covered her, as if she was being touched by a spell.

"Blow northerne wynd!
Send to me my suetyng!
Blow northerne wynd! blow, blow, blow!

Hire lure lumes liht,
Ase a launterne a-nyht,
Hire bleo blykyeth so bryht,
So feyr heo is ant fyn.
A suetly swyre heo hath to holde,
With armes, shuldre ase mon wolde,
Ant fingres feyre for to folde,
God wolde hue were myn!"

He lowered his head and watched his fingers as they danced across the strings, finishing the song and then letting go, leaving the final notes to echo and fade into quiet.

Jane started to breathe again. He sat still a moment, then waved his hand and vanished the instrument. Jane edged a little closer to him as he flexed his left hand.

"What did the words mean?" she asked. "Can you translate it?"

"It wouldn't sound the same," he said, his voice a bit unsteady. "The rhythm will not be right…"

"It's fine," Jane said. "I'd like to know."

His mouth tightened for a moment, he frowned, and stared into the fire.

"Blow, northern wind—send to me my darling. Blow, northern wind, blow, blow, blow," he began, his voice low and purposeful. "Radiant in her chamber is the fair lady I know. She is so stunning to behold that this lady overpowers me—a fair and noble pleasure." He swallowed, and his head tilted toward her, though he did not lift his eyes. "Never have I encountered a woman of blood and of bone who could be more lovely in all this splendid world."

Jane's heart began to beat faster again, even as his voice grew softer.

"Her luminous cheek is alight like a lantern in the night," he murmured. "Her face gleams so bright. So fair she is, and fine. A lovely neck she has to embrace. Her arms and shoulders are all men could wish for, and fair fingers to enfold."

And then he raised his eyes and captured hers. When he spoke, his voice was broken and quiet.

"Would to God she were mine."

Warm, terrifying thrills raced through Jane's chest, and her breath stopped. For an eternal moment, neither of them stirred—Jane got lost in his brilliant eyes.

"Jane," he murmured gently, in a way that he'd never said her name before. Her heart fluttered. He turned his shoulders toward her, reached his left hand toward hers, then pulled back. He ducked his head a moment, his jaw clenched, and then he looked at her with a directness that froze her to the spot.

"Jane," he said her name again, as if it resonated deep inside him. "You asked about the Lokistone, and I…" He paused, leaning toward her. And then she saw something vivid and unfamiliar flash across his eyes:

Fear.

But he spoke anyway.

"Jane, there is something I must tell you."

Jane waited, hardly daring to breathe.

And then something caught the edge of her vision. She frowned, and glanced over his shoulder. He straightened.

"What is it?"

"Look," she whispered.

He twisted where he sat, and looked. He went still. He'd seen what she saw.

Far off, through the trees and the blackness, was a red light.

A single, distant, dim red light.

"What is it?" Jane mouthed.

Fenris' bearing turned cold. Slowly, he got to his feet. His eyes narrowed.

"We've arrived."

"What?" Jane gasped, getting up and stepping closer to him. He glanced down at her.

"Go get your coat."

Quickly, Jane darted into her tent and picked up her coat and pulled it on, then came out to him again. He had not moved.

"Don't you want a coat?" she asked.

"No," he said, his gaze cutting through the dark. Then, he held out his left hand to her.

"Take hold of my hand," he said. Then, he turned, and looked her in the eyes. "I am not sure what we will find."

Jane hesitated, then reached out and grasped his fingers. He secured his grip on her, interlacing their fingers, and stepped forward.

Jane felt it as they passed through the forcefield—it buzzed all around her head for just a second. Then, their feet hit ice-coated snow, and crunched. Icy air bit her cheeks. Then, Fenris lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers.

And the light went out behind them.