Mistress Kiera had always felt that Mord’Sith in other regions were at a strict disadvantage when it came to training. None could match her massive iron cages, bars snaking up from the snow, reaching desperately for the grey skies of the mountain regions.
Even as the girls huddled together, it wasn’t enough against the bitter cold winds and constant storms. Some lost fingers, toes, the tips of their ears.
Mistress Kiera looked with pride at her own hand, several of the digits missing. She had survived, which was more than she could say for most of the girls brought here.