"South and southwest." She casts a glance backward at Balthier with mild amusement as his assessment of the fog--it's pretty much accurate, as far as she knows, and she's actually glad to see him on this trip, since she knows he's competent. (For Sonja, this is friendly and effusive, okay.)

The fog itself is thick and patchy--there are intervals where it seems slightly less dense, but those do not actually denote anything good. Once the fog has so thoroughly encircled them they're clearly at least an acre or two out of the city, there's a sound that accompanies the movement of the truck.

It's hissing. Accompanied by the distinct feeling of something writhing after the tires. It's not terribly intense as of yet, but apparently they're being followed.

"Company," Sonja says. Her tone of voice is calm.