Soon they were passing through a hilly rocky land, and on both shores there were steep slopes buried in deep brakes of thorn and sloe, tangled with brambles and creepers. Behind them stood low crumbling cliffs, and chimneys of grey weathered stone dark with ivy; and beyond these again there rose high ridges crowned with wind-writhen firs. They were drawing near to the grey hill-country of the Emyn Muil, the southern march of Wilderland.
Why must every description of some random hill or whatever be the most incredible series of sentences I've ever read
You’re very welcome!! Thank you for portraying your muse so well! And being willing to interact with people lol. I remember when I wrote for Elphaba like forever ago. Anons and asks are always a Mixed Bag.