### 90

The great winged beast ekes out its death throes for several minutes after you strike the fatal blow. Aching with the fatigue of your combat, you stagger away from its carcass and stumble blindly through the fog. Soon you sense the temperature beginning to drop, and the great grey wall of fog gradually condenses and falls as rain. This rain freezes and you quickly find yourself surrounded by a wall of glittering ice which stretches like a range of jagged glass mountains from horizon to horizon.

Turn to 187.

Text copyright © 1991 Joe Dever.
Illustrations copyright © 1991 Brian Williams.