Mount Everfall wilted scenes for us who couldn't wait

Dark and light, they moved along the esker with little fanfare. Silence reigned supreme between them again though there was much to be found that was unspoken between them. They worked in tandem; where one would look along the left, the other surveyed the right. They switched between them fluidly, taking in the sights like a finely honed pair of hunters—which they were, all things considered. The duo was talented, apart of a brotherhood that was unbreakable and forged from fire. It had been tempered like good steel and filed into a point.

Solpallur’s eyes took notice of a tree that had been unable to support itself in the gravelly stretch. As they passed it by his gaze traced the partially uprooted conifer as it leaned against another, their branches woven and interlocked from years of gradual collision. It was a peculiar thing; the leaning tree so heavily decorated in damp moss, its gnarled roots and the gaping darkness of a hole left where it had slowly torn itself from the earth.

An esker was hardly a place to hole up or hunt in, not that he cared to do either.

This mountain was nice, but far too treacherous to linger on. While the forests below would hold the most promise, he did not know what they would find therein. They did not want for safety in the company of each other, but Solpallur had no desire to find himself entangled with the beasts that no doubt lived and lurked below, including their own ilk.

The edge of the timber was ahead of them now, and the slope increased.