Before speaking of that which was learned regarding the Dragon Expedition during its winter tenure in Inukudish, it is essential to relay the character of the steppe itself during the long months between the first snowfall and the spring melt. This change, which initially appears deceptively minor for the arid nature of Shdustu means early snows are light and barely suffice to cover the ground, to the point that stalks of brown grass regularly surmount their accumulation save in heavily grazed areas, is truly profound. Cold transforms the land from a lively one filled with continual activity to a place of great stillness where unless the herders are active or one is lucky enough to glimpse a hawk or wolf on the hunt, only the whistling wind moves through the vastness.
Even among those animals that remain active and do not fly south, such as the heavily woolen sheep kept by the Kharal, motion finds itself greatly reduced. The herds clump together seeking warmth and any barrier that offers protection from the endless heat-sapping winds, whether that might be the yurts of their masters or the bodies of their fellows. Beneath that icy lash they journey out to pasture only long enough to fill their bellies before retreating to the clustered protections arranged for them. Horses and camels are somewhat more adventurous, and their skill in scraping away the snow to expose grass is essential to insure all the herds find forage, but they too spend most of the winter crouched down in rest, often between mounded snow itself, and move about at speed only when spurred by their riders. High above all this, eagles soar, often gliding for hours without a single flap of their wings visible as they hunt for rare prey or, more often, carcasses left behind by lives taken by starvation or the crippling cold itself. Hunting cats, polecats, and foxes join in such scavenger feasts wherever they can be found, but these animals also prowl among rocks, hillsides, gullies, and any irregularity that might have been claimed as a lair by the pikas who hide below the crust of snow.
As winter deepens and the snow thickens, the endless wind piles the white mass into great drifts wherever there are gullies, tree trunks, riverbeds, or any other means to halt its passage. Though the total accumulation of snow remains modest, with rarely more than a finger's length falling at once, and most days are bright and dry, in the bitter chill there is hardly any melt even on sunny days. In this way, the piles in places caught before the wind grow and grow, until they may be tall enough to swallow a horse to the withers.
Such is the expression of the central truth of the Shdustu winter. The cold is absolute and absolutely constant. It is endless, merciless, and even when one secures warmth in heavy robes around a fire in an enclosed dwelling, thoughts of it remain. Water, left out, turns to ice and then remains in that state for months, even if the sun shines down on it for days on end. Many smaller lakes and pools freeze down to their muddy base, leaving nothing but dead fish in spring. Even the rivers freeze, and solidly. Spring floods disgorge blocks of ice as high as a man's knee and wide as houses. Caravaneers and Kharal, seeking to find water for their animals, may have to hack through thick ice with axes for hours. I observed one such hole where the ice was thick as I am tall. An elder caravaneer, a man who claimed nearly seventy years, told me that in the truly terrible winters, in which whole herds may perish nearly to the last beast from unimaginable frost, he saw a fire sorcerer drill through ice with mystic flames that was thicker than the height of a camel's hump.
Though portions of the Core Provinces do grow quite cold during the winter, especially on hillsides, and snow is well known, the chill that grips the steppe is simply incomparable. This is most pronounced through the constant, bitter, presence of the howling wind. The streams of frigid air, which may blow for many days and nights on end without respite, infiltrate any gap in protective clothing and tear warmth from skin instantly. It is the wind, not simply cold air, that brings death, and is capable of killing humans in addition to livestock. Every aspect of life must shift, must adapt, to the demands of a frozen steppe where something as simple as a fall from the horse that renders the body briefly insensate will bring about deathly cold if not swiftly tended. To travel alone in such conditions is impossible, companionship is essential to avoid freezing to death.
Everything is more difficult in such conditions. Not only does water freeze rapidly when left out, so does anything remotely damp. Energy seeps out of skin and bone in the constant struggle to stay warm, and appetite increases to match. Each change in activity demands constant adoption or removal of coverings as one moves from inside to outside or even from structures heated by an active fire to those simply enclosed. Small tasks, so simple that they are barely noticed during the summer, become difficult obstacles. A small example may prove illustrative. My ink regularly froze solid within its bottle if I was not careful to secure it inside my coat, and as it is impossible to write wearing mittens, I could not record outdoors for more than a handful of minutes at a time before losing feeling in my fingers. This left me largely unable to write anything substantial during the day. I was forced to borrow slate and chalk from Tomad and make such notes as a child's grasp could sustain in the hopes of triggering memory later in the evening. Even then, as candles were precious, I wrote my observations often with my back to a fire and smoke haunting my nose in the dimness.
The morning and midday meals, eaten in summer with little preparation, came to stretch out to occupy much of the day. Food would freeze or solidify over night and had to be warmed under clothing layers or beneath the saddle until it was soft enough to place in the mouth and sucked and chewed until at last finally finished. In many cases, especially with the brutally hard jerky of the Kharal, this took hours. It is neither a pleasant nor flavorful approach to nutrition, but it is necessary when traveling on winter days. Those hours of light are short enough, and the risk of traveling at night is far too great to risk in such extreme temperatures. Similarly, preparation of the evening meal is prolonged, for dried fuel heats slowly in the cold and care must be taken to block the wind securely.
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Traveling is both brutally hard, and in a strange and fascinating irony, easier in winter than during other seasons. Though the cold is frightening and a struggle to overcome, with each night featuring much time spent shivering beneath blankets, especially if they have not been kept completely dry, and one's feet constantly wobble between agonizing cold and dangerous lack of feeling, during the bright hours of the winter day the steppe opens wide. Frozen ground is hard as stone and leveled by snow compression to nearly the smoothness of a road. Rivers and lakes, frozen solid, change from obstacles to highways, crossed almost effortlessly by steppe ponies that know the way to trot upon ice. The Kharal prefer to wage war in the bitter cold for this reason, and their warbands can charge across the frozen steppe. They will cross immense distances each day, travel at night when the sky is clear and the moon full, camp without fires, and raid in force to abscond with huge herds or rapidly assault small settlements. This brings great danger to the wild, for these warbands are broadly indiscriminate in their targets, raiding rival tribes, enemy Khanates, Nikkad settlements, Bahab villages, and even bandit camps without warning. They will target anything they believe they can overcome.
Freed from the time consuming task of milking their animals each morning, Kharal clans have considerably greater labor available to devote to warfare in the winter. If the fighting men do not go to war, they hunt instead, taking great quantities of game by encircling large areas and driving every creature within into killing zones where they may be riddled with arrows. A visitor to the circles of yurts scattered across the steppe will find that many are all but empty of males save young boys and elders too old to ride across long distances. This should not be taken to mean they are defenseless, for every Kharal woman is an archer equal to her husband in all manner save the draw weight of her bow, and the old men who feel death closing over their brittle bones will fight with furious resolve. In this way humans on horseback dominate winter activity across the steppe, and all others hope they hurry past.
The snows, when they do fall, halt everything. Not even the bravest Kharal dares to move about in a blizzard. Wind blows the snow as it falls, and even after, whipping it into low swarms that flow parallel to the ground and whirl from all sides. Icy and sharp, it will sting the eyes, the ears, and any other point that it might touch, and render orientation nearly impossible. There is no choice for human or beast but to shelter in place, preserving all within reach, until the rush has passed. These storms regularly last a full day, and sometimes two.
All of this means much time is spent indoors, seeking the chance to relax and bask in blissful warmth, but the demands of labor continually force bodies out into the chill and the bitterness of excessive cold lingers deep in the core all throughout winter, never fully banished no matter how close one sits to the fire. To those who have lived long in Shdustu this is well understood and they manage to maintain good cheer despite the environment. New arrivals, such as many members of the Dragon Expedition, do not adjust nearly so well. I confess I was myself a vociferous complainer during the first half of the winter, only slowly finding accommodation and a series of learned behaviors that mitigated the impact of the cold. There is a way to stand, a way to breathe, a way to move, and even a way to eat that minimize lost warmth and allow the body to sustain vigorous action throughout the short days of the winter. In time it grows bearable, though never pleasant.
Accommodations aside, the season is a hard one. Its trials explain many of the limitations imposed on Shdustu. While the bright green grass of summer might, in the dreams of the ambitions, be tamed to the plow, the endless white expanse of the snow-covered months turns such imagination to nightmares. The land runs wild beneath the wind, and all must obey its demands. This is the hour of ice, and all must acknowledge the dominion of the weather and its power to overcome even the mightiest works of humanity.
While most of the people and animals of Shdustu have acquired adaptations that serve them well in ordinary winters, especially cold years occur periodically that unleash slaughter upon the land. These feature longer blizzards, thicker ice, and most importantly of all sufficient snowfall to bury the grass beyond the easy clearance by hooves and camel pads. If too much effort is required to remove the white burden, sheep can starve to death even with all the forage they require directly beneath their feet. In such brutal years there are no wars or great hunts, only a deep and constant struggle to save as much of the stock as possible. Such efforts may sustain a community, but the losses are ever grave. The Kharal, responding to such devastation, slowly rebuild their herds, and in their desperation they will press against the settlements of the Nikkad until their needs are met or their losses free them from such demands. In this fashion the weather itself insures a perpetual cycle of violence and vengeance continues to divide the region.
The coldest winters also draw out certain mystic beasts. Though most such creatures are no more tolerant of the cold than any other living animal, with even the great mountain bears retreating to their dens in the months of deep snow, there is at least one exception. These creatures are called Phosphene Wolves. They resemble ordinary wolves, but are overly large, broad-shouldered, have coal-black fur, and their eyes and claws burn with yellow-green flame. These creatures, which are very rare, seem to emerge only on the coldest of all nights when only the stars shine above. Driven by insatiable hunger, they will attack livestock, humans, and any other creature they encounter. Strangely, they do not appear during blizzards, but only when the weather is clear, a small mercy. All people despise these creatures and they are not found often, but they can cause great devastation before hunting parties are assembled to counter them.
Injuries induced by cold are common. Frostbite claims fingers, toes, ears, and even the occasional nose. More dangerous is the delirium-inducing state of hypothermia, which even when it does not kill outright can cause broken bones and terrible internal bruises. Healers work to repair such injuries, alchemists offer tinctures to preserve warmth in the hope of preventing them, and wizards slide through the shadows with promises of restoring that which the cold has stolen away. Their price is simple, nothing more than a proportion of the divine essence attached to each life, enabling the inducement of reconstructive distortion. Those who give up year after year soon find themselves enthralled to a different set of icy masters.
The most terrible loss, perhaps, but only one of many prices extracted by Shdustu's winter.