So . . . this idea came to me today. I didn’t even use an image prompt like usual. I am not entirely sure if it is a good idea, but I decided to go with it anyway.
Blood wreathed the mountain like morning fog.
He stood on his snow covered fields and watched. The lower peaks were still green and white. But he suspected the blood-path of the high mountain lords would engulf the whole mountain before spring.
He looked at the ground, pictured the winter seeds safe under their blanket of snow, and wondered if anything would survive to ripen in the summer.
He took a deep breath and shivered in a fierce gust of wind. The blood tang was sharp in the air. Blood and the musky fire smell of their dragon slaves. They were in the air.
He looked back; his household watched him. Some were wary, some with patience, some with contempt, but they watched him.
Time to go. And damn any who thought him a coward. No one could survive the upcoming war. No one.