03-11-2021, 02:14 PM
For once, the tundra was a still place. Though barren, locked in the depths of a winter yet to relent for it, it was not an entirely lifeless place. Solpallur was familiar with the climate; he had grown up in a place like it, though the place where he had came from had been choked with mountains and tundra valleys where the temperature was prone to shifting rapidly in just a short span. He knew bitter cold just as well as he knew uncomfortable warmth.
These were things he did not expect to find here, however. Instead he had a suspicion that the climate here would be more to his liking, that there would be untold riches to speak to him through the stars and the earth alike. The flatland expanse spoke volumes of what there was yet to find—distant mountains arose, rich and dark on the horizon until the clouds and mist covered them. The focal point that he and Stjornuati had been heading towards, the way the ravens flew and chattered at them.
Even now, they followed the suneater as he made his way across the partially uneven terrain. Hopping along, flapping about, chittering and chattering in their tongue as they pulled and plucked at growth just beneath a thin coating of snow. If not for their company, he would have been entirely alone on the day, and so he spoke to them in his archaic tongue: “Yes, yes little birds. The flowers will grow again. There is life beneath the cold.”
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These were things he did not expect to find here, however. Instead he had a suspicion that the climate here would be more to his liking, that there would be untold riches to speak to him through the stars and the earth alike. The flatland expanse spoke volumes of what there was yet to find—distant mountains arose, rich and dark on the horizon until the clouds and mist covered them. The focal point that he and Stjornuati had been heading towards, the way the ravens flew and chattered at them.
Even now, they followed the suneater as he made his way across the partially uneven terrain. Hopping along, flapping about, chittering and chattering in their tongue as they pulled and plucked at growth just beneath a thin coating of snow. If not for their company, he would have been entirely alone on the day, and so he spoke to them in his archaic tongue: “Yes, yes little birds. The flowers will grow again. There is life beneath the cold.”
the staff team luvs u