Silvertip Mountain There were no seasons in the cave

Gods, that wind is bitter, the bard cursed, squinting his eyes against the sweeping autumnal chill. The Taggerung did imagine that his settling to the mountain had shifted something. He did know better than to expect the warmth of summer sun to last on the peaks.

Gazing out at Ursus, Tagg wondered what might be in store for him with the coming snow, the movement of prey, the clutch of winter. If he could help it, the bard thought he would like to make a cozy den for himself.

With that in mind, he set out in search of a hole in the mountain.