I've given it a bit of a read.
Here's my suggestions.
Ma’osri didn’t seem to notice this though. After a period of thoughtful silence that began after they crossed paths with the priestess, she became more talkative.
The storm section. I found it a bit confusing and 'bity'. This is the sort of thing I would have.
Before they got halfway across the open ground, the storm was upon them like a force of pure malice. It was almost alive, hungry and hateful. As the clouds darkened the sky above them, raging winds battered their bodies, while rain soaked their skins and made the ground treacherous to traverse. In their haste to reach the shelter of the wagon, their feet failed them. As one they tumbled to the side, being blown by winds of proportions unknown to anyone currently alive, besides some of the oldest High Elves that lived in Hammerfell many years past. Fjorrod reached out, ignoring the sensation of weightlessness that overtook him, and grabbed Ma’osri’s hand.
Forcing his head up, he saw the ruins of the caravan from earlier scattered around them, a wheel moving on its side, heavy woollen cloth flapping madly in the wind before tearing off from the pole that held it.
All in all, a very atmospheric piece. I quite enjoyed reading it.
I've given it a bit of a read.
Here's my suggestions.
Ma’osri didn’t seem to notice this though. After a period of thoughtful silence that began after they crossed paths with the priestess, she became more talkative.
The storm section. I found it a bit confusing and 'bity'. This is the sort of thing I would have.
Before they got halfway across the open ground, the storm was upon them like a force of pure malice. It was almost alive, hungry and hateful. As the clouds darkened the sky above them, raging winds battered their bodies, while rain soaked their skins and made the ground treacherous to traverse. In their haste to reach the shelter of the wagon, their feet failed them. As one they tumbled to the side, being blown by winds of proportions unknown to anyone currently alive, besides some of the oldest High Elves that lived in Hammerfell many years past. Fjorrod reached out, ignoring the sensation of weightlessness that overtook him, and grabbed Ma’osri’s hand.
Forcing his head up, he saw the ruins of the caravan from earlier scattered around them, a wheel moving on its side, heavy woollen cloth flapping madly in the wind before tearing off from the pole that held it.
All in all, a very atmospheric piece. I quite enjoyed reading it.