Chapter 1003 Westvale Guardian Laurence Huxley
- "A northern gale carved through the range, its edge as sharp as broken glass. The frigid blast frosted branches, stones, even the breath of hidden animals.
- Yet one stretch of the slope burned with feverish heat, a mad contradiction to the surrounding cold.
- Plants lay charred to powder, rocks sagged like molten wax, and a once-babbling creek had shriveled to a cracked scar of clay.