Dragoncrest Cliffs prophet margin

Right on time the snow began to fall. The churning grey sky dumped fat flakes onto Teekon as the wind blew it into large drifts against trees and Dragoncrest’s cliffs. Njord had never quite seen a blizzard so bad in his life… and this was only the beginning. As night fell the storm grew even more frenzied. The islander looked for his own den, but quickly became turned around in the whiteout.

The telltale signs of frostbite tingled at his ear tips as the cold bit at his wounds from the Ursus. Shelter, Njord thought. Frantically, he tried to find other members of Sapphique… Kaertok, Rosencrantz, the wives… was he the only one lost in the white room?

Eventually he saw a tiny dark opening in a cave, partially blocked by a snowbank. Njord stumbled in, looking like an abominable snowman. What he didn’t expect was a white yearling already holed up inside.