The Northern Mountains
Kellan paused to adjust his fur-lined cloak, scanning the horizon. His boots crunched through the snow, leaving a trail of fresh prints behind him. The heavy cloak draped over his shoulders fluttered with each step, and his gloved hands gripped his crossbow tightly.
For some reason, most of the creatures were avoiding the call of the egg. The villagers stumbled through the snow, their movements slow and laboured. They had been in the mountains for three weeks now, searching and waiting fruitlessly for the dragons to come to them.
Stopping for a moment, Kellan surveyed his surroundings. The wind howled through the peaks, sending flurries of snow swirling around him. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a dull, orange glow over the treacherous landscape. Shadows grew longer and the temperature dropped, biting into the exposed skin of the villagers.
