Post by Corqian Solavel on Sept 21, 2008 2:38:53 GMT -5
The cold wind blew in from the northern mountain tops of Ettinsmoor, screaming gust and snowy tops blew a hail of snow across the plains, winter was fast approaching and soon the pass would be closed to the outside world. very few would travel these paths up this far north, the never ending storm of wind and hail kept travelers far away, along with the tails that the very white witches castle was only a few miles away from this mountain terrain made legend speak of dark and cold beast that roam the mountain side looking for foolish travelers. Most would never look at the mountain without spitting in its general direction; however the mountain had one visitor who had traveled many day just to get to the high range to get to the snow tops and gave upon the ice fortress of the witch.
Corqian’s hands dug deep in the thick now, his face pounded as the wind hit it, and only a small scarp protected his face. The scarp was left behind in the cottage after Will had left 6 months earlier; she had dropped it from her bag as she walked out, and only Corqian had found it the next day on the floor. At first he contemplated whether to destroy it, but he couldn’t. He could not find the will to destroy something so beautiful and so he kept it as a gift, a small reminder or the love they once shared. Perhaps he was still holding on to a dead dream, one with them lying in the forest during spring time. Flowers pressed into her hair by Corqian. Both laughing and rolling about on the grassy plains, but those were only for his dreams.
The trek was long and hard, making little head way Corqian pressed on to the mountain top and over to the witches fortress.
Corqian’s hands dug deep in the thick now, his face pounded as the wind hit it, and only a small scarp protected his face. The scarp was left behind in the cottage after Will had left 6 months earlier; she had dropped it from her bag as she walked out, and only Corqian had found it the next day on the floor. At first he contemplated whether to destroy it, but he couldn’t. He could not find the will to destroy something so beautiful and so he kept it as a gift, a small reminder or the love they once shared. Perhaps he was still holding on to a dead dream, one with them lying in the forest during spring time. Flowers pressed into her hair by Corqian. Both laughing and rolling about on the grassy plains, but those were only for his dreams.
The trek was long and hard, making little head way Corqian pressed on to the mountain top and over to the witches fortress.