Jan 7
The first time the Hunt passed, we barely heard it; we were able to turn a deaf ear, so to speak. The sky was still like a lid over the three mountains (and over the valley, therefore), the peaks above us letting down a treacherous, unholy, frozen air, a very unpleasant bite...but
Nothing compared to these past few days.
La Horde nous dรฉchire de ses crocs acรฉrรฉs, avides, Gare ร qui se trouve sur son passage ! Gardez vous, fuyez, Vous รชtes dรฉjร pris.
The Horde tears us apart with its sharp fangs, its hunger. Beware whoever stands in its path! Beware, flee, you are already caught. -
( art by F. V. Stรผck)
