Time moves slower in the northern lands. or, at least it feels like it does. With hours upon hours of repetition widdling away at your mind, you begin to become simply indifferent about ever doing anything exciting, or new. What seems exciting to southerners is simply our day to day life. Hunting massive beasts, trekking up steep mountains, bounding through blinding snow and wind in the middle of a valley of ice.. It's just a common thing. People die nearly every day, people we know. Most children don't live past a year, and most who do die before they hit adulthood. The longest I have ever heard of one of us living is around seventy, but not living well; being with one eye, one foot, one hand, one ear, deaf, blind, and unable to do anything for himself. Or at least, so I have been told by those older than I. Despite that, it is all normal, accepted, common. We are numbed to it. We raid rivaling tribes, battle the Sabre-tooth cats, battle the Gauradan, go on long hunting expeditions through frozen ice fields that are nearly impossible for one unfamiliar with them to navigate without certain death..
With us being so accustomed to hardship, how is it that we even find excitement? I guess there just isn't that much. When we aren't doing anything important, we spend all our time standing around in the snow, aside a fire, or wrapped in a wolf pelt. Or it seems that way.. We get visitors on a very rare occassion, and most we do not trust, or have reason to speak with. Nor do we travel south, thus, we remain iscolated
All things considered, we see a lot of one another.. and that does get dull after a while. I guess we are surviving simply because instinct tells us to.
