Duskfire Glacier trust yourself

He knew this place. The paths—the shining sheet, opalescent, even with the blackness of the burning mountain. He saw the two peaks rising in to nothingness, in to blackness, but was not afraid of the fire—this second sun summoned by the dragon. There was a floral quality to the air even with the smoke and ruin. As he passed north through the lupine fields his body gathered the falling ash and left an easily discerned path.

This place should not have been familiar to him—yet it was. Seeing the spewing reds and golds from such great distance, Larus' brain transformed the red glow in to a corporeal shape. A narrow-bodied summer wolf caped in red; when he caught further glimpses of the angry mountain, the molten dragon, he saw her. This faceless firebrand. The closer he got to the glacier's monumental edge, the more he traveled between the ash-choked trees turned silver by disaster, the less and less he saw her.

He was hit with the scent of cat and wheeled about in the vapid emptiness surrounding him; there was nothing here, he realized after. The trees shuddered with the mountain's rumbling but there was nothing here that was alive except the fire, not even birds flocking from the treetops. The scent had been a ghostly remnant of a forgotten life, yet it instilled within Larus the desire to run, so run he did.