He stood at the foot of the mountain. His cloak billowed in the wild winds as his trusty falcon burrowed its head in Adrians neck. The ruins floor was blanketed in a thick white rug. Three toed tracks formed dotted lines up the road. Small box shaped houses formed rows of up and down. He walked up the hill his thick boots leaving tracks smaller than ants in comparison to the tracks he followed. He squared in the snow and stroked the tracks with his two fingers before bringing it up to his nose. His head slowly rolled round to his travelling companions “the tracks are old,” his eyes squinted at something in the distance. The group all turned to see a large, spike of ice flew up form on of the houses.

The ranger stood and slowly paced towards the glacier. As he walked down the alleyway he noticed a peculiar, black mark on the cobbled wall. He ran his finger along it and brushed away the soot. “Fire?” He said curiously. He moved further down the alley as one of his partners followed while the other fanned out. The glacier flowed drown from the rooftop onto the bath and up the hill in a smooth crystallised slide. He drew a large bolt form his quiver and loaded it into his crossbow. He stepped through a large crack into one of the houses. Inside sat the bones of a young woman curled up next to a titanic wolfs skeleton. He looked up to see a large hole in the roof he grabbed onto the ledge and pulled himself up onto the roof where he saw nothing out of order except for the army of long silvery slashes and on the slate tiles. He leaped over onto the next building, a small church with a thin yet tall tower. He climbed in throw the broken window and got up onto the top where he looked out at the ruin of the village. The scratches formed patterns on not one but all of the roofs except for the roofs that were either missing, or had been destroyed in another way. His eyes shot while and his jaw dropped. He raced down to centre of of the village “guys! Guys!” He yelled as he dropped to his knees and pulled out a large book bound in leather. He opened the first page and scanned down the small list at the stat part before skimming over to page three hundred and eighty six and began to read “Toraniglir, a small village located at the foot of mount-two-spike,” he lifted his finger and pointed to the tip or two tips of the mountain. “Th rice great trade centre was later destroyed during the the riders civil war in which the dragon riders and wolf riders went to war,”

this is i shortened version of a flashback inside my work in progress fantasy novel ‘shadow of lightning,”