Damien gawked at the embers of the dying fire he had set alight to keep himself warm through the cold snowy night. It had been four nights since he had left for Ervelon, he knew he was getting close, the slight rise in temperature assured him that he would arrive in the elven kingdom soon.
Ervlon faced no winter, just like the snowlands faced no summer, some referred to the two polar kindoms as the heaven and hell of Ronia Cresus, with Ervelon in all its warm radiant beauty; the heaven, and the snowlands with their cold gloomy days; the hell.
Damien scoffed at the irony, especially considering the fact that once he had Ronda in his grasp, he would make Ervlon a living hell for her.
The mere thought of Ronda made Damien gnash his teeth in both frustration and anger. That wretched woman was the reason Eira was gone, he had failed to keep her safe from Ronda's clutches even when every fiber of his being told him something was wrong.