Wrath of the Mountain

"Sir."

"What is it?" The man sat staring into the hearth as it radiated as much heat as it could, trying to contend with the natural cold of the place. The soot coming up from the dirty burning wood sullied the bricks but he could care less about aesthetics right now. The soldier stepped up to the side of the tall chair, both hands held firmly behind his back, both feet flat on the floor and held together.

"We found something in the wake of the avalanche, sir."

"Hm?" The older man picked his head up from where it rested in his hand and looked up to the subordinate. "Yeah? What was it?"

"This, sir," he brought one of his hands forward, holding a worn journal, "it looks to be intact, though no one's been through it yet."

The older man snatched the book from the younger's hands, running his own over it gently. "Yes, thank you. You may go." The soldier saluted and exited the cabin, the wind howling like the damned before he shut the heavy door behind him.

The crackling fire glinted in the man's eyes. Gingerly, he unwound the leather journal's bindings and opened the cover. The familiar writing set him at ease. He flipped through the pages. The entries suddenly ended near the back of the book...

He closed the journal, holding it there in his lap. A crooked smile crept up his face and his body rocked as a laugh bellowed up from his gut.

"Sorry boys," he mumbled into the chilled air, mist rising from his lips as he tossed the journal into the fire. The flames spat and flittered and then swallowed up the pages.

Crowley watched as his name burned away into ashes amongst the wood and leather, gobbled up like souls in the snow.