The blizzard raged, and the cold wind howled incessantly through the night.
At the entrance of a cave at the foot of a mountain, a campfire flickered with weak light. The shivering refugees huddled around the fire, staring eagerly at the pieces of meat placed over the flames.
Under the leadership of Yuna, people stood on high ground and used stones to kill a limping goat.
Though all the animals in the highlands of the Eastern Border were the property of the noble lords, the refugees could no longer care about that. They had been driven out of their homeland and had been struggling on the road for three days without a single grain to eat.
Fat dripped into the flames, releasing a tantalizing aroma.
A thin man swallowed hard, shifting uneasily, his teeth clenching as he endured. By now, even the most foolish person knew that they could only survive by sticking together.
"We'll reach the southern border soon..."
