Moonspear the cold and the bare grasped

At the darkening of her features, his thoughts darkened as well. They had been fortunate enough to have been somewhat prepared for the winter ahead, but with the trembling earth and all it had wrought to contend with now... Dirge did not want to ponder just how grim reality could end up being.

Whatever contentedness he carried with him was fleeting and nonchalant; he could take enjoyment that Lyra approved of his teaching methods and would remember such, but the problems before each and every one of them were mounting quite the attack. So at best all he offered initially was an agreeable note in his throat—he too was aware of the thinning game, though it was far more than thin now. He had hoped to teach the children to hunt properly, to aid them when they were able with managing a herd; they could hardly do it now, and they understood the finer, keen points of smaller game well.

"I fear it will remain that way for some time," he added, sighing. "The first snows have come and with various passages to our north blocked from the rock slides, the herds will navigate elsewhere. If the quaking earth hasn't already encouraged them to do so," and he thought more grimly, if the distant smoke in the eastern sky hadn't driven them away. But they were a clever sort even with their proclivity of finding trouble, and they would endure.

But he pointed out: "We've been lucky so far."