Books Set In The Mountains Novels & Stories

Niamh's heart pounded in her chest, she felt a lump in her throat. In the distance the mountains were a dull, gray border between the sky and the ground. Clouds and snow covered the very tops, and pale green grass grew around the bottom. Icy-blue flowers were sprinkled throughout the mountains, but nothing grew near the peaks, except what the priests and priestesses nurtured at the temple. There was a slender, fast-flowing river that ran past the temple grounds and flowed throughout the mountains until it reached the waterways of the riverlands. The Temple, although made of black rock, blended in to the side of the mountain, allowing the priests and priestesses a quick retreat

POV: Leo Dante Moretti The Jura Mountains were a wall of white and grey, a jagged spine of limestone draped in the heavy, suffocating silence of a Swiss winter. I sat in the back of a blacked-out SUV as it wound its way up the serpentine roads toward the "Phoenix" node. Outside, the world was beautiful and indifferent; inside, the air was pressurized with the hum of high-end tactical gear and the cold intent of the men I had brought with me.

RAVEN By evening, the mountain felt different. The smoke from the burn piles had thinned, leaving behind the faint scent of ash that clung to everything. My clothes, my hair, the walls of the house. It wasn't an unpleasant smell but I couldn't wait to get rid of it. I stood by the window, arms folded loosely across my chest, watching the last of the workers move across the yard below. The light was fading fast, turning everything into long shadows and soft edges. For a moment, if I didn’t look too closely, it almost felt normal.

Making my way to a nearby table, I carefully laid the book down, anticipation bubbling within me like a dormant volcano ready to erupt. Opening the book, I was greeted by the sight of intricate maps sprawled across its pages, each line and contour telling a story of the land it depicted. The Five Courts of Lyria unfolded before me, a tapestry of hills, valleys, lakes, and rivers stretching out like a canvas waiting to be painted. My fingers danced across the paper, tracing the topography.

I said as softly as I could manage. She nodded once, her eyes on me. Then began speaking. “Mountains,” she said. “Huge ones. Sharp peaks covered in snow.” She pulled a hand away, her finger moved slowly across the map. Stopping at the eastern mountain range. “There.” Several warriors leaned closer. “That’s deep rogue territory,” one of them said. Hannah continued. “There’s a city built into the mountainside. Stone walls carved directly into the rock.” Anton’s brows pulled together. “That matches some of the scout descriptions.”

The mountain straights, once shrouded in mystery, now beckoned with a clarity that resonated with purpose. And so, under the watchful gaze of the moon and the ageless sentinel of the mountain ash, Morekish embarked on a journey that transcended the boundaries of his known world—a journey that would weave his destiny into the cosmic tapestry and illuminate the untold chapters of the mountain pack's legacy.

She looked uncomfortable as she doesn’t know how to proceed. “Aren’t you tired? Why don’t you sit down? Or do you want to sleep already?” The prospect of sleeping… in his room… she assumed this is his room. She walked towards a chair and sat while facing him. “Where are we? What’s this place?” “Our pack is called Snow Mountain. One side of the territory is protected by a mountainous area. It gets covered in snow during winter.” “Your wolf is white… as white as snow?” Alice couldn’t remember seeing white wolves before. He was the first she’d seen. Of course, she’d seen others earlier. He seemed the whitest, though.

**THE MOUNTAINSIDE - NEARING THE AERIE** The climb was brutal. Loose scree shifted treacherously underfoot. Jagged rock tore at gloves and fatigues. The thin air burned lungs. The image intensifiers revealed the world in stark monochrome, the thermal overlay showing only the faint residual warmth of small animals and the oppressive, cold bulk of the mountain. Winters moved like a spider, silent and unnervingly sure, finding handholds and paths invisible to the others. Harlan followed grimly, Mack covered the rear, his breathing labored but steady. Reynolds, pale and trembling, was secured on a makeshift sled Leo hauled with grim determination, the tracker clutched in his free hand, its green

When Kiran returned to the room, he saw newly bought pajamas on the bed, and his heart warmed up. Although Snow was ignoring him, she still prepared his clothes, which showed that she cared about him. Kiran changed into his pajamas and frustratedly picked up ‘The Secret Records of Dragonsmount’ to read it. The book told the story of Dragonsmount’s past. It began with an interesting verse. ‘The mountain is not a mountain, and the dragon is not a dragon. There are no dragons in the mountains, yet there are dragons in the mountains.’ These words have been on his mind for a long time. According to his memory, Dragonsmount really did have the energy of a dragon, but it was not anything impressive

A silver candelabra on the nightstand, its flames burning with a clean, white light that cast no shadows — or none she could see clearly, just shapes that moved at the corner of her eye when she wasn’t looking directly at them. The window was tall and narrow, looking out over mountains she’d drawn from memory — the Arrowspine Range, she’d named them, because from a distance they looked like they could pierce the sky. Mountain air seeped through the glass, cold and thin, carrying the smell of pine needles and fresh snow and something else. Something metallic, like blood or iron, sharp and clean and impossible to ignore. She’d never written that scent into the book. Had never imagined it.