He reached a fork in the road and paused for a moment. In between the heavily snow-laden pine trees a path was visible leading up the slope. It was apparent that it had been used recently and was kept well maintained, but the snow had blown in during the night and piled itself in deep drifts, covering much of the path so as to make any traveler’s journey up the hill arduous. The Dwarf turned and started up the path, his feet sinking into the deep snow up to his knees, and began to slowly and painstakingly ascend the hill.
Seemingly after an eternity of backbreaking effort he reached a plateau and stopped for a rest. He reached out his hand to brace himself against a large, gnarly pine tree; the rough bark feeling oddly warm in the frigid cold of the failing day. He was breathing hard from the exertion of the climb and his breath had accumulated into icicles that clung to his beard, hiding any red hair that remained beneath a coating of frost. A mountain hare sitting on a nearby stump considered him for a moment before hopping away.
The Dwarf smiled and looked up towards his destination nestled into the hillside at the far end of the plateau. A warm and cheery glow was coming from around the sturdy, oaken door of the little stone home, and the smell of roasting boar was wafting through the crisp evening air.