With the thick Tundra grasses and the farms clustered about the city of Whiterun below, they looked like a crudely painted canvas, intersecting fields interspersed with streams and small rivers tha wove and cut through each other with seemingly little care for order and organization, small stone walls and thatched houses casting long shadows over the reddish grasses in the light of the setting sun. They were around 80 miles across, North to South, and more than a hundred and fifty wide. Though in all it’s majesty, it couldn’t compare to the vision of the plains before us. The river to our right fell through the innumerable waterfalls of the area, thundering and roaring like an angry hurricane as it carried fresh mountain snow across the plains towards Windhelm and eventually out through the bay into the sea of Ghosts.
The thick smell of pine giving way to the fresh and bitter air of the heights, and of misty water, as we came to the edge of the Throat of the world, or its foothills rather.īut the view… the view was worth the walk. We had walked at least four hours before the tree line even began to break. Perhaps I still just wasn’t used to the new scale of things as they were. It wasn’t insane or anything, but still, it was far longer than I had anticipated it being. Certainly not one you could make in a day.
