The snow bleeds a bruised onto the slopes of the Serpent's Spine. A perpetual twilight reigns here, a consequence of the glacial ice that clings to the highest peaks. The valley floor, a tapestry of muted greens and browns, is carved by a slow, deliberate river – the Silverstream – that snakes through the heart of the range. It doesn't flow directly; instead, it gathers into a series of shallow, moss-covered pools, each reflecting the faint, like a miniature, frozen lake. The air itself is thin, carrying the scent of pine and something else… something faintly , like aged . A single, stunted pine forest occupies the lower reaches of the valley, its needles forming a dense, almost impenetrable barrier. Beneath the pines, a small, crumbling stone wall, barely more than a weathered archway, marks the edge of the forest. The wall is constructed of granite, stained a , unsettling by centuries of rain and lichen. A single, moss-covered sundial stands in the center of the archway, its gnomon pointing directly towards the northernmost peak. The ground around the wall is littered with fragments of shattered pottery, mostly and , and a few smooth, stones. A narrow, overgrown path, barely wider than a man's shoulder, winds its way between the trees, disappearing into the gloom. A single, withered birch tree, its bark a brittle white, leans precariously, its roots partially exposed. The stream, the Silverstream, is a sluggish ribbon of water, its surface disturbed only by occasional patches of ice. The is diffused, casting long, distorted shadows across the landscape., coloring page, line art, white background