It was both frustrating and amusing.Carissa supported the limping Rafael as they slowly made their way down the mountain. His hair was a mess, sticking up in a strange, wet clump after hitting the snow, creating an odd, wild look.His face was a patchwork of bruises—blue, purple, and red. The red came from a cut that had bled; luckily, the wounds were shallow and, combined with the cold, had stopped bleeding quickly. A lump the size of an egg swelled on his forehead, a sight that was both pitiful and funny.Fighting, strategizing, and governing were all his strengths, but games like this? He was utterly lost. Sliding down the slope had turned into a comical disaster.Who knew skiing could be so hazardous?Everyone knew not to underestimate water, but mountains could be just as treacherous—especially mountains that only got covered with snow during the coldest days of winter, hiding sharp rocks just beneath the surface. The terrain here was nothing like the Southern Frontier, and
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