Mount Everfall wilted scenes for us who couldn't wait

Ever difficult to please, Stjornuati found the mount as a whole wanting, lacking in a plerthora of niceties that he was accustomed to. Even on the move, the two of them very rarely found themselves in a place where they could not find even the barest hint of safety. Here, the trees were yet thick enough to provide a veil to their movements but not much else; there was no prey save for the rodent variety and, with winter looming, the moisture in the air would prove only treachery in the way of ice. There was little life and less comfort upon this rock. Sad, in a way, as he was quite accustomed to the stony peaks of their homelands.

Down the two went, careful as could be; the surefooted Nordic would adjust their course when loose stones would begin to taunt his grip, navigating their way to even grounds again. A time or two, he would stop altogether and backtrack, only to pick his way down a different path. They knew not these lands, and taking a tumble here, even as they neared the foot of the mountain, was sure to hinder their movement forward.

It was only at the bottom that the pallid man slowed, pausing to stretch out his limbs and release a certain tension that had taken root there.