The mountain path that led back toward the lands of Threia narrowed as it climbed, winding between the ancient stone ribs of the Lag'ranna Mountains. Once, long ago, this stretch of land had been swallowed by thick growths of Vikor plants, their thorned vines and broad, waxy leaves forming a living wall that made passage difficult for armies. Only with the aid of the elves were they able to stripped the plants away during earlier campaigns, leaving behind scarred earth, broken roots, and the faint, bitter scent of sap that still lingered in the air.
It was here, at the very edge of that scarred pass, that the Winters' Army finally stopped running.
They turned.
