The changing of the year did not bring any respite from hunger or the cold. Choosing this path meant hardship and constant fear. Turin had fled Doriath for half a year now and with the outlaws but this meant he had to keep a cynical attitude to show that he had no reservation nor fear.

He just had to hunt, keep on his guard, and find adequate shelter.

The frigid snow had fallen again and it seemed to extend towards a bitter spring.

How can he maintain his strength? He had no choice but to seem like he didn’t care.