More underworld goings-on and very light CWKB spoilers below the cut-off. As always, draft material, with quirks and foibles and potential pitfalls!

Foot before foot they steady upward strode,
their outward breaths full plain to eye in chill
endampening air, as each to heft her load
of needful gear up-strove—except when swill
in mist to thickness waxed that sight could fill,
in-folding out-blown breath as extra fog,
a mass that gaze dissolved and thought might clog.

In mist, no feel for time or stead they found,
no sense that steps their place on cliff might shift,
apart from touch of uphill-sloping ground.
And fully now they knew how self to lift
from dead-haunt crag in clinging murk adrift,
truly this the work, this the effort hard
that bold-mind lich-land expeditions marred.

For spell unspoken, on they pauseless paced;
at last the shroud-hall mouths once more they gained.
Here ghosts, alone and flocked, all over raced
like flies abuzz—for blood no soul disdained—
if flies in ashen gloom their flight maintained.
The dead own cares pursued, approached them not;
so on pair pressed, two hands in tight-held knot,

with other arms near knife-hilts’ comfort kept.
But dead-flocks climb of living ones ignored:
not caring now for mortal steps, they swept
from cave to cave, their friendships long-lost toured,
or else, to grudges rotten clinging, warred.
Though queens their wits and blades had readied well,
no soul waylaid, no howling trap befell—

or so their walk went, pace by weary pace,
until above the halls they gladly rose,
full keen their minds to wrench from death’s disgrace,
from bloodied-lips, from hall-shroud’s heart-chill woes
(mere glimpses told, I shudder to unclose).
With halls escaped, they sharp aware then grew
of presence on the path of children two.