"Aye," says a man beside her. "Look at those of us who are left. Tired and desperate, we are. If we stay here, we'll all be skeletons by the time winter comes."
"You speak of hardship, and of loss," you tell them, "but you who stand before me are alive and well. If we had stayed in the Great Steppe, you would all have been killed by the Tribe of the Black Wolf. Yet we didn't, and you lived. Why not fill your mind with that, instead of this bleakness?"
"Words are all you have to offer now, I suppose," snaps the woman who first addressed you. "You say that we have avoided being slain by the Black Wolves, but in all likelihood Zhan-Ukhel still pursues us, so we have little choice but to remain here for the time being, under your leadership. What will happen in the weeks and months to come, however, I would not like to say."
"Another thing, Basileios," says one of your warriors, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. "The Tribe of the Black Wolf cannot be far behind us. You passed through their midst before we entered the tundra, and I'm sure their numbers were greater than ours. Am I right?"