"Look at that," Ondolemar said, his voice dripping with disgust as he stared at the bleak landscape. "So cold. So pale. I'll pray to Auri-El every day to return to Summerset."
Thalendar didn't answer to his fellow Justiciar's comment. His golden eyes weren't looking at the rocky, flat plain covered in meagre vegetation. He was watching the sky, an empty greyish-white slate confined by the sharp peaks of high mountains yet seemingly endless. At night, he had been told, all imaginable colours were dancing over it.
"Oh," he finally muttered, still deep in thought, "I think it could be worse."