The snowy forest stretched deeper and longer as the caravan journeyed further. Or perhaps they had long since missed its end because it seamlessly bled into another?
Northern, however, was quite conversant with tree types. Even though most of them were void of their leaves, looking like charred skeletons of what they once were, he could still recognize them by their bark and shape of branches.
Some trees had spectacular shapes of branches, some had a way of looking like disheveled witches. Northern knew those to be the best wood type for fireplaces.
They had high combustion rates without mercilessly devouring the wood itself as compared to several others of their kind.
Of course, all this knowledge had been a boon of living in the countryside with a repentant, deadly, and wicked assassin of a father and an elf from a counter world of some sort for a mother.
'I thought my life was the simplest... I was wrong.'