Submission (#3008) Approved

Kibo sees Strynhalde as pure white. 

A blinding white. White like the snow that characterizes the frigid region. White like the rolling tundras that stretch out farther than his eyes can see when he arrives there for the first time. White like the sky filled with clouds that block out the sun and blend into the snowy hills in the distance. His paws feel frozen and numb as he walks alongside the caravan heading into Iorumund. He can’t say he likes the feeling very much, nor the way his feet sink so deeply with every step.

Most see it that way, he imagines; it’s quite hard to miss all that snow, after all. But it’s more than just what he sees with his eyes. Even here, with the biting cold and wind that makes his nose sting, there is beauty to be found. Untouched hills of snow blanket the landscape, broken only by the spike of pine trees that rise up against the horizon. A break in the clouds reveal the sun ascending slowly into the sky and bathing the entire land in multicolored light. It reflects off the snow in a way that the grasslands of Bellmoril or mountains of Kyendi can't.

It's like paint being cast upon a canvas. A beautiful masterpiece that evolves and changes with the falling of the snow, endless possibilities each new day. To him, the sunrise is always beautiful no matter where he sees it, but there’s a certain poeticness about watching it in a new place for the first time. His breath is taken and another traveler has to gently nudge him along before he almost gets left behind in the group. 

As the caravan comes upon the village with candlelights glowing softly through the windows of every home, Kibo thinks he might like it here, after all.