Frost Forest Gate

The vast rare earth meadow stretches for miles, with its tall, hissing grass and its salmon-colored sky. At its northern border runs an ornate cast iron fence extending from the East to West mountain ranges. Directly at the center of the fence stands the Frost Forest Gate, north of which dark things and enchanted things dwell. The trees are all crystallized beneath a thick frost: a white, sparkling forest in its own right. There is a stillness here, so constant and eternal, so perfectly serene; sometimes unsettlingly so. Here and there, frozen fountains glow light blue. Above the Frost Forest, the sky is always white. Tufts of silent snow fall sporadically off of branches, and albino stags lift their necks and turn their heads toward the suspicious movement; ears twitching, adjusting like radio telescopes.

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