Winter

It was a cruel night – dark and cold, empty of emotion yet corrupted, and it stabbed Nenusidh’s warm heart like a knife. The land was giving the ranger a message – a rather bitter message at that, that there cannot be mercy. The moon was neither bold nor strong enough to best the cruel skies, and the stars were too few and much covered. The land was covered in darkness, yet despite so, there was a fragment of light within the ranger.

It has been two days and well into noon, by now. Despite so, this did not trouble Nenusidh, perhaps it was one of the reasons why he had to set out so quickly, which was the journey will be a while in itself. He has made way into the steep hills of Nan Amlug, the area where the forest breaks into hill and deep valleys.

It was a cold winter, especially moreso in the northern regions such as the woods of Annúndir that resided between the Fields of Fornost and Kingsfell. Despite the temperature, the day was glowing, but the sun hid behind a mask of clouds. It was to be expected as light comes with heat, and if heat was masked so should light.

Within the blue mountains, in one of the chambers build within the deeper layers, a song could be heard. Hilfar and his father Ullfar had temporarily returned to Thorin's halls for an old family tradition. Each winter they dedicated themselves to the brewing of ale according to the traditions of the line of the Ironhammer.

Snow falls on my spuds,

It has ruined my harvest,

When will spring return?

Snow on my window,

I can not spy my neighbours,

What are they up to?

Ice lays on the ground,

I slip and slide to the pub,

I can't feel my legs!

A nice warm supper,

A hearty winters broth, Yum!

Winter can be nice!

Relaxing by fire,

Smoking in the warmth of home,

This is not so bad...