[That's better. It's still cold, and Kratos wraps his arms around himself as much as he can with his hands chained, but Ka-Fai blocking the wind at least makes it easier to walk. Or limp, as the case may be. Even still Kratos keeps his head down, to keep his lashing hair out of his eyes; but he can still look up past his brow, and try to observe their surroundings.

[It's the first time he's actually seen Nidavellir. He hadn't imagined the wind, and he hadn't imagined the sheer festive colour; what he can see makes it look like half the city is formed of bunting and flags, and steel lanterns. The rest is made of stone, red and yellow and a vast array of colours he also hadn't imagined. It reminds him of the jars of exotic coloured sand they'd been given as children.

[... They're heading toward the edge of the gorge just down the street. There's a building there; after a moment Kratos sees the high-wheel carts being affixed to the wingless dragons, and manages not to falter. There doesn't seem to be anything beyond that drop-off, except for the opposite cliff which seems abruptly very far away.

[And they're getting looks the nearer they get to the dragon stable. At first it's just surprise; then it's something in the range of repelled disgust and fascinated horror. Either the passersby stare without shame or walk away with sneers.

[Kratos keeps his head down, and stops when Yuan stops.]