In the distance was the Holdt, the town spread out in a half ring against Sigurd's Bane mountain face.  The village was well-patrolled at the fringes, as well as the tall fence built to keep riders and masses from invading.  It was a sound place to live, and their King a good one.  Sabine stood on a hill, the reins of her black mare laced in the fingers of her gloved left hand.  Her hood pull up over her flame coloured tresses, shielding her from the harsh, cold winds of the surrounding tundra.  Smoke was rising from the cook pits of the village, she could see it from her far off viewpoint with her own eyes.<br/><br/>She and her friend, Rydis, had gone hunting the day before for whatever game they could find.  The migrating animals made it harder to feed the population of the town, and the lack of vegetables even worse.  The few winter berries and herbs she'd gather would lend to the dwindling stocks.  Her mare pranced restlessly beside her, neighing, straining because she knew home was close.  Sabine ran the gloved palm of her right down her mare's ebony neck, whispering calming words to the prancing animal.  The horse calmed, nosing her rider's chest for treats.  She laughed, rubbing her fingers over the mare's nose.<em>"Good girl, pretty girl,"</em>She whispered to the creature, looking over her shoulder at the line of trees, and the shadows beneath.<br/><br/>Rydis needed to catch up so they could make it home before nightfall.  The hunt had been successful, at least enough to feed the village.  The two of them had flushed a lean boar out, and by sheer mistake, or luck, a second one.  Her horse had been nimble enough to avoid the aggressive creature, allowing Rydis to down the animal as it took its final stance against the pair.  Thankfully, his Clydesdale was strong enough to drag the two carcasses behind it, while her nimble mare was not.  She'd ridden ahead to scout their return, but she'd expected him to appear sooner than this.  Her attention turned back the village, and the growing threat to their way off life.<br/><br/>The elders of the village, at least those that had survived the cold winter, spoke of a strange people- those that were death, but not dead.  The draugar, an ancient and forgotten people.  Their King ignored the words of the wise women, and in turn, could prove to be the downfall of the mountain town.  But Sabine knew her King was worried, for he rubbed the stump of his left hand and it was a sign of his discomfort of the situation.  She frowned at she looked at the village, praying that they would make it through the rest of this winter- and whatever came their way.