Mount Everfall wilted scenes for us who couldn't wait

“Þetta veit ég,” he rejoined with a sigh; it was unfortunate that winter was coming if only for the fact that it would slow their travels, their hunts, and their general way of life. Had they been on their own completely, winter would have certainly spelt out a death sentence. Even as hardy as they were, they were not foolish, and their time together only bolstered their chances of survival. They were wolves of the great frontier, a world so wild and untamed that truth be told they had things easy here.

Solpallur missed that realm, sometimes, but for all the trouble it had wrought he was just as glad to be free of it and free to roam. They had carved out their own survival for so long that winter itself was a burdensome thing. But they would survive it too, he thought.

“Ég hef séð það í stjörnunum,” he went on, coming to a halt. Such signs were subtle, but the frost that greeted them sometimes in the morning and the way snow had begun to powder the gentle slopes that had led them there told either of them all they needed to know. It would get cold, not gradually perhaps, but swift and sure in the way that the mountainous cats struck their prey down in the dead of night.