The snow crunched under the yearling's trembling hooves as he dipped his head to lap at the edge of of the partially frozen lake. The side closest to him was fed by natural warm springs and resisted freezing even during the most frigid of winters in Evandar. His ears flicked nervously while he drank. It seemed all of his fellow creatures were as restless as he.

In the last decade, Winter's cruelty had eased with the slow, but steady renewal of the land. Its caretaker's annual pilgrimage, careful tending and continual reinforcement of the protective wards contributed to this. Each Spring heralded a bright future, filled with hope as the flora burst forth in a riot of colors and fragrances. Summer brought lazy days for the fauna that chose to live there even if the land was not yet deemed safe for elves to live there again. And as in most lands, Autumn signaled the time for harvest and preparation for the coming cold.

Yet as the smaller than usual fawn nibbled on some yellowed grass peeking through the snow, he sensed this Winter would be harsh. Food was already becoming difficult to find. The snow fell heavily and the ice storms ravaged the trees. They were young, slender and flexible; but, they split and cracked beneath the weight of the glistening ice. Their roots were beginning to rot and the sundered trunks revealed cores festering with decay.

At least the cold seemed to lessen the stench of the odd rains that began to fall in late Autumn. The animal inhabitants fled to the farthest boundaries of the wards when they fell for they reeked of blood and seemed to be centered around a particular stump in the central clearing. The Lady Fire of Evandar had planted a gardenia bush at the base there many years ago in memory of her mother who died at the very spot. Its blackened branches sagged and struggled to breach the crimson-tinted snow....like everywhere else within the borders of the land.