Cold... That's all there is to think about. The cold... and how bleak life is with it always whispering in our ears.. Somewhere in the frost, a crow cries out in anguish. Freezing wind, bones of ice... Cold. Like a leathery wing made of icicles and bits of lifeless fur, it casts a dark shadow over the endless hills of snow before us. Yet still, we force ourselves into this lethal march, even as queens, kits, and elders fall dead with each burning pawstep. But I don't wonder long; there is no time for wondering when you're dying inside. Darkness, Air, Water, Sky