Chapter 1188 Come In, Friends

• Ian
• “I don’t like this, Ian,” Naomi shouts above the howling wind. It’s pouring rain–whipping rain, actually–and so foggy I can’t tell up from down.
• Wren knows exactly where he’s going, and the pathway carved into the mountainside, with a severe drop off into what sounds like crashing waves, is well traveled. He carries a single oil lantern to guide our way. But his head is bowed. The sack on his back weighs down his shoulder, and he’s not a weak or small man by any means.