Ficly

64

From a distance, it is a monolithic mountain suspended in an infinite whiteness. Its peaks penetrate no clouds and its base floats above an abyss. It is a foreboding giant yet smaller than a speck in it’s empty, limitless environment.

Yet it notices not its solitary situation and goes on its way. Letting things go on as they always have, knowing of nothing else. The trees never wither despite the constant winter and the cliffs are as perilous as ever. Time is an insignificant afterthought and if you ever leave it’s the exact same when you return.

Standing on its surface, the snow is cold but not uncomfortable. The ice is slippery so caution is a given. After all, it’s a long way down.

The path to the top is tricky but not difficult, at least not to the experienced. Seeing as it’s a bit of an odd place, the few visitors who do come tend to be pretty capable.

It’s the way down that’s dangerous. You could take the path, but the locals will give you a star if you take the ice slide.

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