Notes from Undvik

Spring was late in coming this year. Snows stuck around till after the first apple blossoms. And not just high up the hills. Won't be a bumper crop, that's for sure. Summer was short, and fall's just started and already we've had the first frosts. Got men digging in hardened ground. They plant millet or barley, but they won't harvest much of either. Panic's setting in on Undvik. "Winter's coming," or so say the old timers huddled around their fires. Everyone avoids saying "Ragh nar Roog," as if the words themselves could bring disaster. But everyone senses the last battle's leaping ever closer towards us. To my mind, long as the giants still sleep, we've hope yet. Aye.... we've hope yet...