Snow blanketed the sky and earth; the road ahead was nowhere to be seen.
A party of nearly a thousand trudged through the flying snow, bent at the waist. Warhorses neighed, Giant Wolves growled low, and the scouts at the very front grew increasingly lost. Their leader's face darkened. He knew their party had lost its way. They either had to camp where they were and wait for the snow to stop, or find a village. Without shelter from the elements, people would freeze to death.
He seized a scout by the collar and roared, spittle spraying all over the scout's face.
"Where's the village?! If we keep going, we'll all freeze to death!"
"I... I can't see it..."
"Idiot! You got us lost! Go to the back and watch the livestock! Get out!"
The scout scrambled toward the rear of the column. The furious leader, his face grim, stared at the vast white snowfall and decided to find a sheltered spot to make camp until the snow stopped. The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. The old mage had clearly said it would not snow before they set out, yet this blizzard was no illusion. Had the old mage grown senile? Or perhaps the god they worshipped was not so mighty after all?
The thought that he had doubted the great god made him shudder violently. He hurriedly cast the blasphemous thought from his mind.
"Pick up the pace! Find a sheltered place to camp!"
The long column pressed onward through the snow. Their fur coats were covered in snowflakes, their beards and brows white, snow pouring down the collars of their leather garments, their cheeks and foreheads frozen red. One could not ride in weather like this. Batch after batch of warhorses lowered their heads