The clouds burst apart on either side.
The ground shrank beneath them at tremendous speed. The outline of the mountains stretched into an arc, then vanished from sight.
Shinobu Kocho gripped Yaha's clothes so tightly that the fabric bunched into creases.
This speed exceeded what she could withstand with her Breathing Style. The air striking her face felt less like wind and more like someone pressing something hard against her ears and scraping it backward. Instinctively, she buried her face in Yaha's chest and curled into him.
"Turtle."
Yaha's voice drifted down, languid and edged with the annoyance of someone forced to carry dead weight.
"What are you cowering for? Tear my clothes and you're paying for them."
Shinobu Kocho did not loosen her grip, but her knuckles had gone white from the strain. She could feel the wind pressure, the ringing in her ears, and the scorching difference in temperature between them, yet she could not speak. Opening her mouth meant swallowing cold wind; even forming words was a struggle.
Yaha glanced down at her.
Then a paper-thin layer of cursed energy seeped silently from his arm. Like an invisible partition, it stopped the rushing air two inches from the side of Shinobu Kocho's face.
Most of the ringing disappeared.
The violent scraping sensation against her face quickly subsided as well.
Shinobu Kocho did not lift her head, but she sensed that layer. Her years immersed in pharmacology had made her perception of subtle presences far keener than most people's. That force felt extraordinarily light, thinner than silk, yet as solid as iron.
She drew her face a little way back from Yaha's chest.
Yaha planted a foot on a rocky ridge atop a mountain and pushed off. Their trajectory abruptly changed at a sharp angle in midair, carrying