"Lie still, idiot!" Gilly shouted, fumbling with the wraps. His firm hands gripped tightly around Rannor's arm, holding him as still as he could. Yet the man below writhed in agony, desperate to hold his own wound. "Leave it alone! We can't bandage it if your hands in the way." Gilly struggled, forcing their friend's hand down on and returned to leaving the wrapping to Roran. Gilly stole a glance up at his friend, who strangely seemed intent in thought. Eyes were immediately took back to the injured as he howled. Gilly hushed and forced the unharmed limb down; blood was important, a man could lose a hand and live. 

Howan trembled in the blizzard, throwing up the last of his half empty stomach before sitting up shakily. His head swam and shook, as if his head had been tossed off the top wall of Castermere's keep. The world span slowly, twisting this way and that. He could hear noises, although only if he was submerged in icy cold waters. His ears stung and ached. Howan lifted a hand and felt his ears, soon covering them again slowly. The little warmth his hands have off were welcome, bringing life back to his frozen ears. As the world came to a stable stop, Howan finally saw his brother's and friend's pouring over the injured. He picked up his sword and rushed over. 

Roran was fumbling over the last bandage wrap, a thick layer on Rannor's arm. It wouldn't be enough to save him, not if this blizzard kept up. 
"We need food. Real food." Roran sighed, leaving Gilly to lift Rannor's head upright behind a pile of packs. They covered him with an extra layer of fur before gazing towards Roran. The blonde stood above the first of the dead Wargs and sighed. He pulled out a small dagger and ripped into the stomach of the female beast. She wasn't large, but she'd feed four men enough to give them the strength they needed to get home. Glly stood and walked over to Roran, disgust on his face. Warg meat was tough, stringy and dry. It was a last resort for many. It was their best choice for food tonight. 

Gilly stayed beside Rannor, keeping a check on him as he slept, drifting between consciousness and the void beyond. They would lose their brother tonight, no doubt. It was on their minds, silent and unspoken. Howan had turned to tend to the fire, hoping to rekindle it and increase its life. They needed enough to warm themselves and cook the meat none of them wanted to eat.

*****

Four other men waited further down the road, none grumbling about the cold like elders did. It was warmer than it had been for some years. A suspected drought was coming. Many had spoke. Of the Waste's expanding, how the desert stretched further each year, swallowing the land as it moved. Few bothered the pilgrimage to Viltas now. Those who did died of dehydration before they each the cities walls, or any of the wells. Summer was getting hotter. Everyone could feel it.

"Derrin?" One man asked, dropping down from his horse when the man reappeared. "Any news?" The man was thickly built, dark skin, with a heavy beard on his chin. A Child by birth. His mother a refugee from beyond the seas. His life with the watchers was as good as he could have asked for. He spoke with urgency, and walked with distress. "If it was war out boys have warned us against, the Capital won't have listened." A man behind him nodded in agreement.

"When was the last time the King paid any attention to the Northern border? We've been forsaken for many years now. Horngul with not stay our allies when summer comes. The famine last harvest will happen again-"

"Now is not the time to discuss politics and conspiracies, Greymount." Fraym spoke, stopping in front of Derrin. "Right now, we need to find our brother's and get them safe. If war is on the horizon, the King must be warned."