Having never left my village before, I did not understand the length or the difficulty of my journey west along the trade road. Synwye had subtly tried to discourage this sort of behavior, but her talk of the dangers only filled me with the desire to journey. My journey was to take me further through the Harinese Mountains far to the West, to the peaks of perpetual winter where Icegrowth never leaves and ribbons of light dance in the sky to tempt men to not look where they are walking. My journey was to take me over the river Kalipaonin that takes greedily of the dirt and dust to nurture the island within its miles-wide flow. My journey was to take me past the thundered plains where it is said that Urostian’s ashes were spread under a petrified tree for he prefers stone to wood as it makes for the strongest shelters. My journey did take me to these places, and more. Yet, first I must speak to the perils of travel and the cost of war that I did see when I climbed the peaks of perpetual winter of the Harinese Mounts, crossed the river Kalipaonin, and traversed the thundered plains.

The road that runs the rest of the Harinese beyond the village is winding and dangerous. Like the most venomous snake the youngest of its coiled paths are the most venomous. Of this, thankfully, I was warned and did not risk the shortcuts that tempted (and still do) the inexperienced travelers who fall prey to bears and wolves and ice. On this portion of my journey did I first pass a caravan full of families who prayed to Mentilian, Urostian, and Borinean for their homes had burned and shattered in conflict. They too were headed far west to Moringia so that perhaps their pleas to the saints might be answered and that war which is still waged under different names.

They spoke of the brutality of the army of Junumianis that had burned their crops and hidden their children from all except Mentilian, for the saint of justice knows where all injustice festers. Many of them told “this is not a conflict of righteousness, it is one of greed and power” and to avoid Arimens for they feared it too would fall prey to greed and power. I did not let their warnings affect my desire to learn magicks so I could return to my healed village in many years and purchase the apothecary, as Benevolence had said was possible. Before I ventured ahead of the caravan I purchased a torch as the spies of Junumianis were said to not carry torches and I had not yet reached the peaks of perpetual winter where the warmth would be needed.

Before I had reached the peaks of perpetual winter in the middle of the Harinese I encountered a pack of Harinese white wolves. Harinese are unlike those that tread in the thick evergreen forests in the Gray Spine next to your village. Those wolves are pests and cowards who eat your chickens and goats while the village sleeps. Harinese whites do not fear man, as we are simply other game to them for near the peaks of perpetual winter the mountains are bald making food scarce. The sun had begun to lay its red and purples across the wilds when I first saw the long-cast shadows of those beasts stain a patch of snow that had refused to melt. At first I looked for somewhere to hide, so that the wolves may not see me and not reach me where I slept. I continued forth, for I remembered that my mother had once spoken that the nose of the wolf often serves as its eyes.

It was when the sun fell past the mountaintops and the reds and purples of twilight faded to blues and silvers of cloudless nights did I hear the Harinese white for the first time. The sound is more desperate than those who scream to Borrinean for alms in their slumber. To experience a pack of Harinese is to make the howls of the most fierce blizzard but a breeze. There are few howls even throughout the Deep Weald and the salted lands that surround the crypt of the thirteenth saint that bring such despair. It is said that when a liar that has done enough as to be scorned by Ghalstorin hears the cry of the Harinese white, that he will simply lay prostrate to be eaten, for the liar knows a lie when he hears one and wolves do not lie when they take an oath. I heeded the advice my mother had once spoken that I must head for shelter if I were ever to hear the call of the Harinese white and lit my torch to continue walking through the night.

The howls continued, as the pack stalked me from beyond ridges and slopes until eventually I saw the distant lights of the village next to a small woods that lay in the valley under the peaks of perpetual winter. It was when I was halfway down the path to that village that the wolves howled once more and began their hunt in-earnest. Hearing their yelps and their paws scratch against the bald stone of the mountainside I saw three options before me.

My first option was to run along the coiling dirt path and hope to outrun them. I knew this would not work because my father had taught me that to run from wolves will lead to certain death. My second option was to bear the torch towards the beasts and pray to Ralurusian that the pack remembered that all wolves should fear flame. My last option was to run down the unpathed slope, which was shorter than the coiling path of the option that would certainly. I held my torch out in an attempt to give pause to the beasts but it did not work, for in their hunger they had forgotten that all wolves should fear flame. Looking backwards down the dark and rocky slope I set my foot off the trail, taking the only option that would not guarantee my fate.

I was not but a few feet down the slope that gravel slipped under my foot and I tumbled down the side of the mountain, throwing the contents of my bag (but fortunately, not my threnits) upon the cold stone. Soon, I found myself in wildgrass in front of the village as two boys ran out to help me.

"We heard the wolves hunt and saw you fall off of the coiling path and down the rocky slope into the woods next to the village. You should thank Borrinean that you carried a torch or we would not have been able to see your fall and wind you laying in the wildgrass.”

The boys had to help me into the village, for when I tried to stand I found that my left leg was twisted and could not hold my weight.

My condition forced me to spend the next month recovering in the village that lay in the valley under the snow laden peaks, for my leg needed to be tended to by the village apothecary. During my period of rest in the village I grew familiar with Ynguinian, one of the boys that found me at the edge of the woods in the wildgrass. He too, was in his seventeenth year, and had offered his help to the apothecary while I recovered. Each day he changed my bandages and set splintwood he would ask me of my journey to Arimens.

“I plan to study magicks, and once I am learned and worldly I will leave Arimens to purchase the apothecary in my village,” I would tell him. He would respond

“For many months I have wanted to leave this village for elsewhere, for there is not much but wolves and peaks of endless snow. Can you take me with you?” and not wanting to bring Decay upon this boy I told him

“no, for I only have the threnits for myself and your parents and the apothecary still both have use of you.”

Which was true. Every morning and every evening he would ask me of myself and ask me to bring him with to Arimens, and every morning and every evening I would tell him of myself and that I would not bring him with me to Arimens.

At the end of Sunslength was my leg healed but was at an odd angle so I could no longer run and my gait was awkward. On the day I was to leave, and before I stepped on the coiling path towards the peaks of perpetual winter, Ynguinian presented me with a carved stick made of oak. “I have made for you an oaken staff to balance and walk on because you told me that your father taught you that oak was the strongest wood. I hope that this will also serve you as a stave for magicks, as I have heard that all mages carry a staff.”

Which is untrue, for mages carry books to cast their magicks for they typically serve Kalitian and call upon her for aid and power. Still, I thanked Ynguinian for his thoughtful gift, and I silently acknowledged it as a word of Virtue given to me from the boy. With that solemn acknowledgement I started up the coiling path towards the mountaintops where Icegrowth does not end. What I did not realize was that Ynguinian had more to say to me, as he ran out in front of me and held his hands towards the stars to invoke the fifth saint.

“You have said you will not take me, and I dare not ask again for you have given your word. However, I hold my hands towards the stars and give an oath before Ghalstorin to aid you on your journey to Areminens so that we may both arrive safely, for your leg is twisted and I fear the journey will be too difficult for you alone.”

I could not object to his oath, for Ghalstorin is not pleased with those who lie and Ynguinian had never lied before, and I would not be taking him, he would be taking me. I accepted his commitment, for he had outwitted me, and we began to travel together.

It took us three weeks to walk the coiling path through the peaks of perpetual winter where Icegrowth never leaves. Those days we curled for warmth in scratchy woolen blanks, and walked sunburnt from the snow under our faces. It was not an easy three weeks, and I believe I would have met my fate upon those peaks had I no companion to aid me, for there were many times I lost my footing and fell. It is our last night in the peaks I remember most, more than twenty years later.

It was a moonless night that we sat under our rough woolen blankets eating acorns we had found weeks earlier in the woods that I remember most. We had not spoken a word in several days, for we were both exhausted and hungry because threnits do not buy food where there is no village. We had been staring up at the sky admiring the work of Ghalstorin when the ribbons of light only visible on these peaks made themselves known to man and the animals who could still remember what Beauty was. They curled in their imaginary wind and threw the colors of flowers and oceans and sunlight upon the eternal snow and for the moment I forgot that I had left my village because I had touched yew, nightshade, and water hemlock and prayed to the thirteenth saint who brings only bitterness and Decay.