Mount Everfall wilted scenes for us who couldn't wait

The end of the mountainous trek seemed to reach its natural conclusion at last, and the rocks gave way to a gentle carpet of dew-damp grass and leaf litter along a forest’s edge. Where the tension began to leave Stjornuati, Solpallur held onto it for a while longer as he took point again, testing the air curiously. It was thicker here, as it should have been, and the passage of time was not lost on him.

The sun was beginning a downward swing now, the birds settling into their roosts with fitful calls and tales to tell in tongues he did not speak nor understand. His gaze held the forest in high regard; this place too was comprised of an old, dense wood and foretold of the bounties within. Should they decide to seek them, at least; forests were good for hunting and foraging and with the tributaries that ran and carved a powerful course through the region he had no doubt they would not go wanting.

“Við hvílum okkur hér í kvöld,” he told him.