Wildermore

Continued from: Into the Cold: The Hunt Begins

Continued from: Into the Cold: Dreaming of the Battle

The warmth of a small fire is of some solace here in this deep and dry cave. This wicked winter keeps the land outside locked in its firm and cruel grip. Wildermore has always been a wilder land, the Balewood in particular, but there are strange matters afoot.

Continued from: Into the Cold: A Call from the Wild

The warmth of a firepit is of little solace up here in the mountains, where the wicked winter’s fist keeps the land in a firm and cruel grip. Wildermore has always been a “wild” place so to speak, for it is not the kind of land one would pass through easily and without purpose, and the people who do make their living here are hardened folk.

Wake up, my friends! I make wild call,

This winter troubled us too long!

Shake off the snow, dear huorn,

And crack thick ice, roots are so cold,

You, little squirrel, find your mum,

And you, strong deer, gather all,

Sharpen your horns, you wildest goat,

We'll find those who brought the saw!

Wake up, my friends, we march at dawn!