tundra

The Marrow-Ache Glade

The horizon is a jagged line of white on white, where the screaming tundra wind carves patterns into the permafrost. Here, the gargantuan ribs of a long-dead frost behemoth arch over the landscape like the ruins of a bleached cathedral. The air is thick with 'frost-spores'—glittering shards of elemental ice that catch the weak sun and sting the lungs of any traveler brave enough to breathe deep. Deep within the skeletal cradle, a pulsing azure light emanates from the marrow of the ancient bones. It is a siren's call to the desperate and the predatory alike. Sheltered from the worst of the gales by the massive ribcage, an uneasy stillness reigns, broken only by the low, guttural growl of territorial hunters and the frantic scraping of a scavenger trapped within the frozen tomb.