Grit and I weren’t faring any better. I had to call out low-hanging vines and jagged branches, which cut into our wings. Every stumble drove my heart to beat faster, my throat to become drier, my muscles weaker. The only thing we had going for us was the clear sky, which let me know exactly where we were going. I was going to need it to remain clear if we had any hope of surviving this. I couldn’t hear the grindylows anymore, but I didn’t know if that was because we were pulling ahead or if the blood pounding in my ears was loud enough to drown them out.