cold wind turned the downpour to stinging, slanting, mist-laden torrents, making it difficult to see.
Before long Rhia's rainsoaked, cold hands were white-knuckled, cramped, and numb, and she took to holding her breath, as several times there were near mishaps as the horses slipped on the rain-slick, smooth-worn stone of the roadway, but they finally reached the bottom without incident, shiveringly wet and cold despite being covered from head to toe in oilskins. The horses fared no better then the riders. Despite their stoic resilience, their necks drooped, their eyes were wide and staring with fear, their ears were laid back, and their legs shook with fatigue.
They had turned to the right and were now following the coast road west. Progress along the road running near to the shore was better, though slow, as the downpour continued for the remainder of the day. Rhia was amazed that the marine birds- gulls, terns and cormorants- went about their business as though the weather were of little consequence. Many had nests high in the cliffs above to their right, and swooped down to the sea, or glided upon the cold, wet wind. The sea, for its part, roared and thrashed its way through black tumbles of rocks standing like rows of broken teeth. The whole entire scene was comprised of slate blacks and greys of every shade. Several times Rhia tried considering her own hands or a nearby face for comparison, but her rain-chilled hands were pale in the grey light, and pale and indistinct were the few glimpses of faces she could ascertain from the depths of cowl, rain cloak and hood. At one point her horse wandered to the left, bringing her near the beach of rounded boulders and pebbles, so that she had an unobstructed view of the sea. `Just like home,' Rhia thought to herself with a tremor as she considered the cold stone coast and the cold sea that broke upon it with relentless, mindless fury. `Just as unlovely. Just as unforgiving.'