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The snow burden Lundland bore slowly melts away. Where there was once dry, dead grass, there is now bright green fields. The dead flora have been reborn, and fauna multiply, feasting on the fruit of trees and bushes. Birds return from Mishfarden and beyond, to sing new songs in their old homes.

Humans leave their nests, and find welcome, warm suprise from a sun so long obscured, which now shines down on them, as if God himself were smiling at his subjects. The people return to the fields, to begin working again. The Waiting Season left much work undone, and the Working Season, true to its name, promises a great deal more work ahead. The fields hum with activity of all sorts, as people work to plough, tread, sew, build, and repair. In the markets of towns, shopkeepers announce their fresh wares, while housewives and street urchins scurry about streets.

But, separate from all that is natural, the Lords of the land act as though nothing has changed. They hunt, feast. scheme, order, and kill with the same frequency as ever.

The court of Bolgaz might have appeared quiet to the uneducated eye. But the servants see the representatives exchange notes in empty hallways, speak words behind closed doors, and whisper close to each other's ears at the dining hall.

Rone strangled a vixen today. He fell asleep with its tail hung over his bed.

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[b][i]It is now the Working Season, AU 107[/i][/b]