It does not get very interesting. Winter may be a human, but he has been in Narnia long enough to pick up the speech and habits and dress of Narnians, and could be mistaken for a young midgety giant or a certain type of incubus. No creatures he meets outside of Narnia's borders know who or what the White Witch keeps at her right hand; they see the blades he carries and the way he walks and presume that his business, if he doesn't trouble them with it, is his own.

There are a great many mountains in his way, with hazardous slopes and even bitterer cold at the high altitudes.

But once they have been crossed, there is a garden.