Wind howled through snow-covered evergreens and lashed at fair skin and auburn hair with the frozen precipitation it carried, causing the lone traveler of the mountainous terrain to grit his teeth beneath his coverings. Emerald eyes, bared between a wrapping of fur above and below, narrowed in attempts to keep the snow from interfering with his sight. What an absolute embarrassment.
He had been refused nearly everything he had requested for the journey; a ship, money, men. All of it had been denied! And so, with only the loyal steed beneath him, the man continued his journey through the blizzard referred to as the North Mountain. According to locals from the neighboring kingdom –where the passenger ship he had managed to board had landed –it had been snowing rather steadily on this particular mountain for nearly ten years. At the beginning, an entire kingdom had been engulfed in it, but over time it had settled, content to rule over this one peak. Unfortunately for him, however, this very mountain was the quickest way to the Kingdom of Arendelle, provided one could survive the storm –which, at the moment, he was barely doing. Despite two layers of gloves and a larger, fur-lined pair of mittens over top, his fingers were numb around the reigns that steered his horse.
Weighed down by what was apparently too much snow, one of the many formidable pines that towered above the man snapped. With a rather loud thud, it hit the ground, sending clumps of snow flying into the air and greatly startling the horse below the man. Whinnying in fear, the steed reared, standing on its hind legs and effectively knocking the man off before darting into the woods, leaving the traveler stranded and helplessly calling after it.
A rather long slew of curses later, the man pulled himself to his feet and stared at the tracks left in the snow. It was hardly reasonable to think he could catch up to the beast now: standing in nearly a foot of snow, shivering from the cold while his eyes drooped from exhaustion. If he stopped moving, however, if he gave up, he would surely be dead before dawn. As if in some sort of plea to a god he surely did not believe in, he raised his eyes towards the peak of the mountain.
A moment later, in shock and disbelief, green orbs widened. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. Surely he was hallucinating or, perhaps, already dead. Just beyond the treetops, there appeared to be the roof of a rather formidable structure; a stronghold or perhaps even a castle of some sort. It was hard to say in the dark, but it didn't appear too far and, even if it was covered in snow and ice, if he could find a way in at least he would be sheltered for the night. Survival, after all, was what was important.
With a renewed spark in his eyes, the man trudged forward through the snow, further up towards the peak of the mountain. Soon, so very soon, he would be able to rest.