( the sky ) the fog is thick as a white night now and the land marches only according to its voice , tied together , showing us our way as we near the hilltop , coming through the trees- and i order the battlehorn to be blown- the sound spills out into the world , and even from a distance we can hear the clearing 's terror at it- i press my battlemore on , faster through the forest , feeling the pace of the land pick up behind me .