Eleven's faint smile falls in the wake of thoughts of vengeance and his own mission. He hopes he isn't failing his grandfather- or Erdrea itself- by falling wherever it is he's come to. But it's all he can do now to survive and stay alive so that he might find a way to return.

He rests quietly for precious minutes more until the cold begins to creep in again, then finally pushes himself to stand.

"We can make it."

As they climb higher and reach the top of the mine, the view reveals a town past a stretch of tundra. It's slow-going against chill winds, ice, and fallen snow, but the promise of a haven keeps them all driven to move forward. They're lucky, in that only a single undead finds them out in the open. Lacking the strength, energy, or concentration for a prolonged, evasive fight, Eleven surprises it by rushing in to tackle it down into the snow, then shatters the blade of the shovel into its neck.

He averts his eyes from the severed corpse and wavers as he stands, breathing rapid puffs of ice crystals. His limbs quake with a mix of adrenaline and fatigue, but they're too close to stop now- can't afford to, now that they're practically defenseless.

"Almost- almost there."