Day 19: Share a line that displays your world.
Wind chased across the wide surface of Loughliath, spreading dappled patterns in strange whorls that merged and spread and faded away. A wan winter sun tried to gleam from the small wind-stirred waves, but the lake refused to give up its leaden grey, and the wind conspired to wipe away the few glimmers with roaming gusts.
As the wind reached the western shore it swirled up the steep, forested hillsides. The tall fir trees sighed as the wind curled through them, and their swaying limbs caused the moss-covered statues lurking on the forest floor to play peek-a-boo in the small shafts of sun that darted through the trees.
Still the wind climbed as it pushed westward and the hills became mountains. Grey clouds slid past jagged peaks of white ice and black rock, revealing one knife-edged ridge after another as the mountains climbed to the west and north. Here, at last, the wind curled back upon itself, heavy with the cold smell of ice. It sank into the folds of the valleys where it chilled the shadows and lurked in patches of rotten snow.