She's feeling the effects of the lack of air more strongly by then. This is deeply unpleasant, it's good she'll be in the wagon for the rest of the day. Hopefully her Images will be enough if they need to fight again.

She doesn't actually know Dorin's preferred death rituals, but she can still (slowly and laboriously) gather his belongings, all the little things he mentioned and all the minor bits that might get lost in the caravan, and tuck them inside his armor. And make sure he has all the coin he should have, still there for his next of kin without anyone here having run off with it.

The caravan eats in silence and soon enough they're back on the road.

They pass from one mountain to another. Their elevation increases further and light frost carpets the ground.

The cold wind seems to suck the life out of Tenecednil. Her clothes feel like they weigh as much as full plate. It takes great effort to breathe.

...it's not even the cold, it's the lack of breath.

She can feel that she can't breathe. It's obvious. The wool lining her cloak is necessary to prevent her from freezing over. It also adds weight. She cannot catch her breath, and every ounce drags her down like this. Acclimate, fine, eventually. In the meantime, though... She can barely carry anything like this. Her magic really will have to do. Walking is hard, she won't be running up to anything any time soon.

Her magic is as good as ever. Apparently that changes higher up, but not yet. Here she can still breathe enough to handle it. She can't walk along the caravan even if she wanted to, though. She wouldn't keep up.

Some time later...

Howls fill the air.

"Wolves! They're ahead of us—"

A pack of eight wolves emerges in front of them on the mountain path.

Silent Image. How do they feel about (what appears to be) a dire tiger in front of them? Maybe sixty, eighty feet away, too far to catch them if they run right now, but not if they move closer. (And too far away to smell.) Its paws pad silently on the ground, but it is no less (apparently) menacing. It grins, and its long, sharp teeth glisten from within its mouth.

That's a terrifying death beast. These wolves are out of here now. Dire tigers are the stuff out of wolf nightmares.

The caravan cautiously continues...

The wolves do not return.

A guard peeks his head in the wagon. "Good job. That came at a really bad time. Down a man and late in the day..."

Breathe. Just keep breathing. Air in, air out, it doesn't matter if there's not enough.

"Thank you." Breath. "Just trying to" breath "pull my weight while" breath "I'm stuck in here." 

Breathe. Focus on the breathing.

The wind and the cold grow ever stronger as they continue. Up and up and up they go. The sun lowers in the sky until it touches the horizon.

The caravan slows to a halt. Dinner is served.

She's been spending most of what energy she can muster staying upright in the thin air, but she is still upright, and she can eat while sitting down. Out. Food. She can talk, as long as nobody wants her to pick anything up or more faster than a crawl.

Well, everyone is eating and admiring the view and telling stories about Dorin. She doesn't need to talk unless she wants to.

She really shouldn't, not with how much effort talking is right now.

...but they're getting it all wrong, they can't tell the stories right and she can hear it. Fine. Her voice, at least, isn't as badly affected; once she's sitting and not trying to carry anything, she can speak just as grandly as she could in reasonable conditions, if not for as long at once. She tells some of his stories, weaving threads together into a... plausible... tale of how he helped reunite a child, lost in the alleys, crying from the stink of an otyugh wafting up a nearby sewer entrance, with her family. Careful exploration, a friendly but bumbling neighbor, a few liars just for lying's sake... At least a third of the actual content is passed on from him, and she knows enough of the streets in that part of Korvosa to make sure that part holds together. If some of the actual actions are played up a little past plausibility, well, who's to know. That's almost expected in these kinds of times anyway.

Her stories are appreciated. It's about time they all go to sleep. Tomorrow they will arrive at Janderhoff.

Good. Sleep. Yes. And less risk of something trying to eat her tomorrow while she's nearly incapable of movement. Also good.

The caravan is up at the crack of dawn. Tencednil is less exhausted than last night... but still tired. At least she can actually move now.

Well, it's better. She has enough of herself together to make it through her routine without dropping anything or collapsing to a crawl again, and today they're close enough to Janderhoff that if she needs to collapse in a wagon after a few hours of walking it isn't that much of a problem. And as she showed off yesterday, she can contribute perfectly well from inside a wagon. Up and walking, then.

Forward to Janderhoff they go!

They continue increasing in elevation. It's not nearly as windy today but the frigid cold drains Tencednil's energy like a wraith. Within an hour she feels just as exhausted as yesterday.

Hours pass.