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Underfoot, was snow whiter than white, so much so it reflected the sun blindingly back. It wasn’t hard to see why many would nickname it “the snow sea”. Though the aura about the place did not hold the same energetic, wild, and free spirit that was the south’s sea. Where vaguely, behind closed eyes and strained ears, one could remember the crashing of waves, the smell of salt, and the distant noise of seagull.
Here; the sea was quiet and somehow dark, even though the vast whiteness was sometimes too bright. Underneath the snow, burrowed mice and various types of rodents; in the trees hid the birds. Further along, were the grazing long-legged creatures they watched from afar.
The forest itself caved around, breathing down shoulders in the breezes and bursts of wind that oft found its way slithering in betwixt the many trees and mountains. The shadows in gaps between long trunks stared deeply in every direction. Burning holes into the backs of heads and sending fur to stand at end.
Distant howling of wolves and the bugling of elk broke the silence, but it was never pleasant. Yet, the North knew the wolves like they knew themselves, they knew the elk, the snow, and the shadows.
The camp was deep into the evergreen forest, the high, crumbling walls somehow the most welcoming out of everything else there. Even if the ghosts of the past still roamed the dilapidated halls with howling drafts of wind.
The dens mostly took place where the building hasn’t yet fallen to the mercy of time, or underneath, much like how the prey hid from them. Sometimes, the cats slept under the stars, their thick coats braving through the sharp winds.
Their meeting place was a long winding tower - or what used to be a long winding tower. The last of it hung on loosely on its wooden bone. The meetings were held on the lowest hanging ledge, where the King could be heard and seen.
Outside of the camp is a maze of towering trees that fill empty space with a mass of green and shadowy figures. The snow is underfoot for nearly half a year, and sometimes ices over so its sharp and uncomfortable for cats unused to the harsh winters in the northern territory. The undergrowth that toughs through the cold are twisted into knots and curl from under the snow.
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A large narrow mountain finds itself silhouetting the northern territory. It's peaks jagged and crooked. Iced-over stones slippery and sometimes bridle, ice-weakened, cover the mountain and make it hard to traverse. The highest peak is a column of jagged ice that juts out toward the open, cold air. Clusters of smaller, but no less terrifying mountains crowd around the larger monument, highlighting it in all it's glory.
The mountain has no name, for it needs nothing but fear. Heirs have climbed the mountain and have perished in attempt to reach the final peak. The north has lost many of their talented cats to missteps, cougars, wolf packs, and other mysterious movements of nature.
[333 words]