Sane people didn’t carry the wars past the time of the gratitude festivals because, for the rest of the year, it got cold, real cold. Crann Na Beatha was a balanced world, with three months of summer, three months of fall, three months of winter, and 3 months of spring. From the gratitude festivals in An t-Samhain to the first springs of A’ Ghiblean, the world resembled a winter painting, with snow drifts as far as the eye could see.
In this world of a winter wonderland, four souls can be found. Why they weren’t sitting in a stone house, huddled around a fire, none would tell. And the fifth wasn’t a soul at all, at least not one that anyone would ever want to talk about.
For twelve days, the four had left footprints in the snow as they left civilization behind, searching for something that they wouldn’t be able to describe.
“Larec, why are we stalking this shadow?” The red-haired man said as he pulled his fur-lined cloak tighter around his frame. “We could be sitting fireside, cu…
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