The northern mountains, like silver Dragons coiled at the end of the earth, stretched across the northern border of the White Horse Kingdom.
When sunlight spilled down, the peaks reflected countless points of dazzling, magnificent radiance, like scales shaken loose by a giant dragon—so breathtakingly grand it stole one's breath.
Yet behind this ultimate beauty lay a brutal environment for survival.
The howling cold wind was the eternal song of this place, and hardy snow cedars and lichens were among the few plants able to survive here.
The beastfolk who had lived here for generations had migrated to the ice-free harbor farther north on the continent. Now, only tenacious snow-mountain savage tribes remained, scattered sparsely around the outskirts of the mountains like moss, relying on hunting and ancient wisdom to coexist with this world of ice and snow.
Within a sheltered gorge stood a small savage tribe.
Dome-shaped snow huts lay scattered like white mushrooms, faint cooking smoke rising from their chimneys and lending a touch of civilization's warmth to this silent white wilderness.
Yet at this moment, the commotion erupting from the center of the tribe shattered that tranquil atmosphere.
A young savage hunter had been carried back by his tribesmen. He had slipped from a low cliff and broken his leg; his right leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and the agonizing pain had left his face pale, cold sweat streaming down it.
"Hold on! The shaman will be back soon!"
"Move aside! Bandage him first, get the fire going!"
The savages hurried about, but there was little they could do in the face of such a severe injury.
"Make way."
Just as they were at their wits' end, a petite figure pushed through the crowd.
Unlike the savages surrounding her, she was a Lizardfolk wrapped in