The dragon was true to his word. Step by step, he led the four across the shattered ice, weaving out a path through his pack’s watery territory. Once or twice, they met up with another dragon from his pack, curious of their journey to the north and as to the happenings in the human world.

Eventually, they reached the edge of his pack’s territory, just as he’d said they would. There were a few tense moments as they came across a small group of dragons from a rival pack, unhappy to have interlopers on their territory, but an explanation and the scent of the Wayfinder smoothed the altercation over. The four were handed off, and were taken further into the pack ice.

As autumn chill overtook winter, the four moved north across the Summerlands, guided from pack to pack. Everyone seemed to have heard of Yarik, and even the more territorial of the packs gave them food and safe passage. Alika was surprised about how wide-spread Yarik’s travels throughout the icy Summerlands had been, and at the many tales the dragons had of him: he’d supplied medicine in times of disease, and food in times of starvation. Often, he’d only taken relatively small things in return: fangs, bones, and pelts of deceased dragons that had already been stripped clean, or fur shed from their winter coats. Initial hostility melted away to kindness at the mention of his name, and any dragon old enough to have known him seemed happy to repay his kindness.

For a human with a relatively short lifespan, Yarik would sure to be as immortal as Snow. The four reached the edge of the sea ice and passed onto the continent, but even in lands that he never set foot in, the tales of Yarik the Kind had spread like seafoam.

Yet, eventually, their journey through the Summerlands had to come to an end. With their paws sore but their bellies full, the four reached the northern edge of the Summerlands: the Coldfire Peaks.

Tall sharp mountains rose into a cloud of mist, their peaks obscured. A light dusting of snow fell from above, specks of white standing out against Alika’s pitch-black scruff. Sheer slopes of foreboding stone flanked burst out of the ground like a wall of teeth.

“I will go no further than this,” their final guide announced, a older female dragon named Koska. “The Coldfire Peaks belong to no dragon, no pack.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Thank you for taking us this far,” Alika replied, bowing her head.

Koska raised a claw, allowing a snowflake to fall on it. She looked down at the four travelers. “Are you sure you want to go onward? The pass will soon be closed off for the winter. You’re welcome to stay with us until the spring, if you’d like.”

“The Land of Eternal Ice is on the other side, isn’t it?” Alika asked. “Where the nomadic packs are?”

“That they are,” Koska answered. “But there’s very little communication across the mountains. Yarik’s tales will give you no safe passage there.”

“Why not?” Snow questioned. “What’s so bad about these mountains?”

Koska lifted her wing, gesturing toward the peaks. The four all turned, watching where she was pointing to.

For a moment, Alika saw nothing but the mountains, the white peaks forming a formidable barrier to the lands, but no more than that. She was about to turn away when a faint rumble rattled her claws, the snow vibrating with it. Alika lowered herself to the ground, prepared to sprint away at as moment’s notice. An avalanche?

And then, the mountain before them erupted. A brilliant plume of water shot into the sky from its peak, quickly freezing into white crystals of ice and snow. The mountain roared in its cold fury as mist poured from its jaws, and its surface became buried in fresh snow and shards of falling ice.

Alika stepped back, holding her wings over her as mist billowed out from the mountain. A gentle patter of snow fell down upon them, melting into her fur.

When the mountain had quieted, Koska spoke once more. “The mist’s reduced visibility makes flying through the ice mountains dangerous. Shards of ice could tear one’s wings, and being caught in an eruption would bury you with it. Avalanches and sinkholes make walking not much safer. There is only one way through, Coldfire Pass, but there are said to be monsters that lurk there, so large that they prey even on dragons.”

Snow gulped, hiding her head in her tails. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“Alika, are you sure you want to go through that?” Gust asked, swishing his tail. “We can still turn back.”

Alika raised her forepaws, calling forth light from her claws. It twisted and twirled through the air, leading into the mountains, swallowed up by the mist.

Alika looked back at the kind Summerlands, the rings arcing across the sky behind her. Once, she had followed them, but now, she would be leaving them behind.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”