High up in the mountains, the air is thin and clear. Crags of stone touch the sky, and this is inhospitable country, where little grows except a few scraggly gorse bushes. It is much more frigid here, high above sea level, particularly at night, when the stars are brilliant points of light. A narrow crevasse seems to have been hewn by hand--an extremely difficult task indeed. There is something ominous about the path winding through the pass, and the bones of small animals (mute, surely) have been scattered along the ground.
The trail ends at the giant city of Harfang itself, which provides a dubious comfort. As might be expected, everything from the dwellings to the furniture--what furniture there is, at least--is oversized. Whatever the giants do with their time it is clearly not spent on the upkeep of Harfang, since the town has run to seed. Everything is dirty, and much of the town could use some basic repairs and maintenance, particularly the sagging thatch of the roofs. Even the few crops they've managed to cultivate are practically overrun by weeds.
The trail ends at the giant city of Harfang itself, which provides a dubious comfort. As might be expected, everything from the dwellings to the furniture--what furniture there is, at least--is oversized. Whatever the giants do with their time it is clearly not spent on the upkeep of Harfang, since the town has run to seed. Everything is dirty, and much of the town could use some basic repairs and maintenance, particularly the sagging thatch of the roofs. Even the few crops they've managed to cultivate are practically overrun by weeds.
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