Looking east he felt to be at the top of the world. Ridges covered the top, speckled with greens, and rolling into the surrounding valley.
Turning to the west, he felt small. Three great brown lifeless mountains loomed above him. Great clay mounds, they were, molded against his passing. The smoke hovering over the middle mound, reminded him of the dangers yet to come.
Yet, even greater than the brown mountains that impeded him, two great frozen mountains rose behind, separated by a valley of frost. Though the passage through that mountain fit between his fingers now, He knew that he’d dare that cold-as-death passage for days. Maybe, just maybe, he’d reach the top before the frozen airs stole they heat from his body and preserved his corpse for all eternity.