On a winter morning at Sacred Mountain, the landscape was draped in a pristine layer of snow, creating a picturesque scene that seemed untouched by time.
The first light of dawn gradually painted the sky with soft golden hues, casting a gentle glow over the snow-covered trees and slopes. The air was bitingly cold yet carried an atmosphere of sanctity that demanded a hushed reverence.
The forested slopes were a tapestry of shadows and light, where delicate patterns of frost adorned every leaf and branch. The hush of morning stillness was occasionally interrupted by the distant calls of birds or the gentle rustling of small creatures moving beneath the snow.
As Ely walked down the path, the snow underfoot offered a soft and muffled cushion, creating a sense of walking on sacred clouds. The trails she left behind held a palpable aura resonating with the abundance of spiritual energy.
