Frostfire Ridge its colors stolen from

it takes wintersbane a bit to notice that he’s being followed. at first, he mistakes the light sound of footfalls to be of some woodland creature who’s path he crossed that remained downwind of him. yet, it persists. he moves and so does the footfalls; rustling underbrush. eventually, the smell of sagtannet; familiar as it is to him, drifts upwind and tickles his nose. they are …pretty far from the peak that wylla and mahler have claimed and for a while he entertains his ghosting shadow.

until, his curiosity wins out. in the thick emerald underbrush of the ridge he cannot make out a shape, yet, but he knows they’re there. i know you’ve been following me. he calls, wondering who in sagtannet would care to follow the ex-eisen. it struck the tundrian as awfully boring to follow a man with no purpose. you can come out. i won’t bite.