The man was bent and gray and his crabbed hands shook on his gnarled staff, but his voice still held the power that had made him the storyteller of the Tribe in his youth."The golden dragon rained fire and melted the ice and the white dragon taught the Tribe the spells to survive the difficult, yet beautiful climate. Together, the gold and white kept these plains of ice tamed and the Tribe survived in plenty."The old man's voice reached Kam even from the other side of the fire. Warmth in the ice wastes was hard to come by, especially for one not of the Tribe, so Kam appreciated his place near the flickering flames. His brown hair was city short, which meant his ears and neck were exposed to the cold wind. The barbarians all had hair that reached well down their backs, tied in intricate braids with feathers and stones woven throughout. None had hair more elaborate than Lor, the man with the snow-white hair and ice blue eyes who had the seat of honor next to the storyteller."But," the storyteller's voice darkened and Kam felt his chest clench at the ominous tone, "such times were not meant to last.
