Far from the castle's gilded halls stretched a forest drowned in snow. To arrive to the forest takes weeks, at least if it was done by normal means, but as a sorcerer, Lastor had used all his magic circle to arrive to the forest's entrance in a count of five days, quite a feat that one had to acknowledge.
Usually Lastor would marvel and reward himself for being able to do the impossible but today he was in no mood of celebration as he had came with a grave news and the probability of fulfilling his goal was close to zero.
Every inch of the ground lay buried beneath a thick white shroud, the trees bowed under its weight, their branches creaking in protest. Not a single patch of earth was visible; the world here belonged entirely to winter.
