The middle-aged man wore a worried frown. "But we can't keep hiding here forever. When will this end?"
Everywhere he looked, there were mountains.
Woods, hillsides, cliffs.
And the valley they had chosen as a temporary refuge had nothing but weeds.
Over the past few days, everyone had finished building their thatched huts and reclaimed some land, scattering a few seeds. But no one knew whether they would yield a harvest.
If it had been spring, things would have been somewhat better. Unfortunately, it was autumn now. There were very few things they could plant, and on top of that, they had only managed to obtain a limited variety of seeds.
"There's barely anything to eat, and our homes are just a few bundles of grass thrown together. How are we supposed to survive the winter like this?"
Old Ironhead gazed regretfully into the depths of the Dense Forest. "What a pity that the mountains are full of wolves. We don't dare go in there. Otherwise, we could at least get some meat to satisfy our cravings."
He patted his old companion on the shoulder. "Don't think about it too much. Just gather more firewood and bring back more wild vegetables."
"As for those fields, I only hope they can grow a few more potatoes and sweet potatoes before winter arrives. Otherwise, I'm afraid not many of us here will survive the winter."
Along the way, most of the old people had died, and the little ones carried in their arms had quickly perished as well. Most of those remaining were young, strong men or young girls.
Although they had luckily escaped to the border between the north and south, where the drought was not too severe, every town had refused to accept them as refugees. They had even been