Among some desecrated crags he sat, eyes unblinking as he gazed across the white landscape. Something had occurred here, a great happening upon the mountain he knew well. Chillborne had come and gone, traversed hither and claimed nothing, for he was a sojourner of intellectual destination only, but that didn't mean he did not enjoy this land or that one. There was a scent in the air, the powerful fragrance of wild wolf heavy in the nighttime. He was near the borders, but not across them, and indeed could not quite distinguish them in their entirety either way. So he watched and he looked, and he saw meaning nowhere until it was presented to him in the form of some passing personality.
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