Mount Everfall wilted scenes for us who couldn't wait

The threat of winter lurked in the back of his mind too—he could feel it wanting to set in around them as the days grew shorter and the nights stretched long. Though they had lingered in those temperate climes for quite a spell, Solpallur knew the seasons were cyclic. It may have been warm yet still, but morning frost had greeted them when they had begun their ascension.

A touch of it here or there did not concern him greatly however. It had a special significance to it, much like the pebbles loosened beneath his toes as he moved on. Though creatures of mountains and timber alike, he would not keep them here any longer than necessary. They would endure this trial like the others, and forge and find their way forward.

After a time, the trail began to slope downward towards a narrow esker lined with pines. An appraising note lodged itself in his throat; this was the way he had been looking to go. Downhill, towards the forests and the winding river valley.

"Ah, skógar," he grumbled. "Dapur skógar."