Dragoncrest Cliffs ‘Cause I Want More

The wind was wild here, whipping through his fur, filling his lungs with the fires of the mythos the cliffs were named for. Had the man known their name, he might have reveled further but as it was, there was a contentedness that filled him with every breath he took, with every avian cry that rose above the low roar of the wind. It was not the cry of the black feathered corvids but Stjornuati enjoyed it nonetheless.

The wilderness was the ice man's true love, a love that no other had ever touched, and a love that would never be reciprocated. She was a free and capricious thing, casting every curve and obstacle she could into the lives of those who bent to her. And all bent to the mercurial mistress known as Jörð, whether they wanted to or not.

Liver colored eyes cast to the seas below, Stjornuati kept his silence and solitude in this rare jaunt away from his brother. As curious as these wilds were, they made him feel alive; it was a feeling that would draw him in again and again, and it would keep him here for the moment, where he grew more and more sure the answer to their hringja lay.