Morning Mist and Silver Sun by StarSpray  

Ruins of Himling Isle

for the instadrabble prompts: bleak, snow, scurry, breath

The ruins of Himling Isle were a bleak, dark outline against the pale, cloudy sky. Snow fell in flurries, blown to and fro by the sharp sea wind. There was little in the way of shelter on the island, this time of year, aside from the crumbling walls. The trees were gnarled and barren, stretching out twisted, fingering branches to catch at his cloak as he passed by. Something small and furry scurried away at his approach.

Desolate, some might have said, lonely.

Maglor didn’t mind. He ran his hand over a wall, tracing the Star of Fëanor carved there.