Emberflame Ridge Burning incandescently

The willows gave way to a bleak landscape of stone and ice, but nothing so empty or forlorn as the higher north. This was nothing like the glacier that had held his interest for so long; similarly, it was different from Jade Fern Grove in the same manner. The trees were like bowed heads, hair-like boughs draping across narrow faces - the grove was more dense, varietal. Tryphon only thought of the grove for a moment before shunting it from his mind, settling it in to a neat little box somewhere, to perhaps be unpacked in the future. He trailed across the uneven ground with the intention of finding the ridge and, perhaps, following it down to the hills below -- except that his route appeared to rise more than it fell. Evidently Tryphon had a poor sense of direction, because the mountains beyond him were getting bigger, not smaller.

And there was a figure. At first the boy thought it was only a figment of his imagination - a shadow cast by the cliffs, contorted by the darkness of the trees and the irregular terrain. He thought he saw it move, and came to a sudden stop. The wind billowed around him, whistling briefly along the spine-like bluff to a strange pitch before falling flat, and he watched the shadow move; curious but resistant.