The Ruby Sword — Bertram Mitford

[...]and cavernous-their serrated ridges piled on high in a confused jumble of sharp peak and castellated formation-the home of the markhoor and mountain sheep. Here a smooth, unbroken slab of rock, sloping at the well nigh precipitous angle of a high-pitched roof-there, at an easier slant, a great expanse of rock face, seamed and criss-crossed with chasms, like the crevasses on a glacier. No vegetation, either, to relieve the all pervading, depressing greyness, save where a ragged juniper or pistachio had found anchor along a ledge, or fringed the lip of some dark chasm aforesaid. No turn of the road brought any relief to the eye-any lifting of the unconscious oppression which lay upon the mind; ever the same hills, [...].