The seasons came and went for years, as they always had. The wet springs, the hot summers, the crisp autumn, and the chilled winter. We knew how to survive. Pups came on the heels of the winter, when the spring was fresh. Our summers were cheerful, our magics were at their peak, and food was bountiful. As autumn descended, we were fat, we made new pups, and stored our food away for the long winter. That was simply how things were. But when the winter fell and grew colder, and harsher, and did not lift, we did not know how to survive. Our food stores began to thin, our magics, at their weakest point, were barely enough to sustain us. Nights fell that did not lift for months on end. The bears did not wake from their hibernation; their cubs starved to death on their drying teats when their mother did not wake. The stags became as lean as we were, surviving only on the plants that continued to grow through the winter. By the passing of the stars, we have been 6 years in this winter, and there seems no signs of spring. Waste is not permitted. Hunting without cause can bring a death sentence. Exile is a fate worse than death. There are those driven mad by the eternal ice and snow, who turn their teeth on their brothers to fill their hungry stomach. We do what we must to survive.

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