It was warmer than expected inside Renauld’s snow hovel. With three people fit comfortably inside the small hut at any one time, it had certainly been a usable place to sleep. Body heat expelled from the larger occupants served a great boon to everyone else, and the snow, though packed and hardened, wasn’t nearly as unmalleable as stone. With tarps to keep their backs dry, everyone slept in only mild discomfort as humid air condensed, dampening their clothing. In the morning proper, they’d notice the sogginess of their garments and be doubtlessly displeased, but in the throes of slumber, no one cared.

The night watches too, had been less dangerous than expected. Outside of that moment of excitement in the first watch, every other watch had been relatively safe, relatively quiet. The snowstorm dissuaded all but the hardiest (or stupidest) monsters from raiding the camp, and by the third watch, it was too late at night and too early in the morning for any more attacks. Peaceful, exhausting silence reigned over the place, broken only by the stirring of miserable embers. But such peace never lasted. In the wilderness of Altera, reprieve and repose were temporary, as fleeting as the winds of winter.

It happened when Argen ended his shift, crawling back into the snow hovel to rouse Siwon. There was a slight tremor, the turning of a dreamer, a heavy thump against the walls, and then, quite suddenly, everything came crashing down, the dome of snow losing its shape and burying all those who slept underneath. To call it a rude wake up call would be an understatement: a face full of cold, slushy snow was a terrible way to start the day, made even worse when some of that snow got underneath one’s garments, soaking the body underneath. A quinzhee was a temporary shelter at best, after all. Whether it be rising temperatures, a rowdy occupant, or simply bad luck, it was never meant to last a day, perhaps not even the length of the night.

If there was anything to be grateful for, it was that the majority of occupants inside were strong, adventuring types. Regardless of how sleep-deprived they may have been, none were weak enough to simply suffocate under the mounds of snow, and soon, they all burst out, cold and bleary-eyed, exposed to the thankfully-mild elements. No other shelter had been constructed in case the first fell, and regardless, it was only two hours till sunrise, the clear, cold sky already turning from black to indigo. Whether they tried to snatch some more sleep or did what they could to prepare for a day of marching was up to them; regardless, it wasn’t only Siwon now, who was awake before the rooster crowed.

Ettamri, on the other hand, sleeping in her own little tarp tent, spent her night colder, her sleep occasionally interrupted by sharp hunger pangs and the rattling of the wind against the frozen-stiff cloaks that made up the walls of her own shelter, but when the snow hut collapsed and everyone was roused, the warrior, at least, was unaffected by that bit of misery. Whether or not she chose to rouse herself afterwards was simply her choice.