Sawtooth Spire and i'd call you atlas

from what he and melkor had discovered thus far, the valley set in the large bowl of the very mountain. evergreens, willow, and silver birch comprised the majority of the forests, which poured down the stone sides of the spire, ending in scrubby foliage at the shale of the mountain's base.
there, good pasturelands would bloom green in springtime, but be trapped under chase amid the stone fangs of the foothills.
even without the herds, deer had made their home in the near untouched belly of sawtooth, along with goats and elk. there was hardly need to leave once here, and mahler knew the waterways not yet explored would also yield a bounty.
"vhat shall we call this river?" he inquired of the two, plume flagging at his hips as he inspected the meandering, ice-edged serpentine flow that seemed to be fed by snowmelt.