The blizzard keeps up into the early evening, but, shielded by the walls of the tower, the people of the Tribe of the Red Bear are protected from the worst effects. Standing by a long-shutterless window on a raised section of wall, you look out at the whirling snow.
It seems as if your eyes are playing tricks on you, for from time to time, you swear you can see a figure standing in the snowfield beyond the perimeter wall. As soon as you focus upon it, however, a new swell of snow obscures your vision. You are still standing there when you hear shouts from below. You turn toward the sound.
An unfamiliar man stands in one of the gaps in the tower's walls. He is wearing garments of fur that seem to almost cover his body, and in his hand is a club of wood and bone. As you watch, he raises the club with a shout, and no sooner has he done so than a swarm of similar figures pour through the gap and into the area occupied by your tribe. The nearest of your people are immediately cut down, while those farther away desperately scramble for their weapons.