The cold was all pervading. For as long as he could remember, his earliest memories were of the cold. Of course, that's only to be expected, living as far north as he did. A small garrison, sitting on top of a mountain, where even during the hottest days of summer he was forced to push through knee-high snow and ice. Running through it now, at almost 14 years of age, had become almost second nature to him. Lightly skirting huge drifts of snow, springing over unseen pits and patches of ice, he spent almost as much time outside the garrison's palisade as within it. Off in the distance, he heard the piercing call of a flock of raven fill the frozen air. The boy stopped running and removed the scarf from his mouth. Tilting his head back, he answered their call with one of his own. Almost instantly, he saw the flutter of dark wings as the flock took flight in the dying light of day. Laughing lightly, he readjusted his scarf around his face and set off again, resuming his almost suicidal speed through the encroaching darkness.
Within minutes, his destination drew in sight. The old, weather beaten palisade, standing just barely twice the height of an average man, completely encircled the garrison. Guarded within were a series of squat, single story structures: barracks, mess hall, the shrine, and the storerooms. The boy slowed to a walk as he neared the wall's gate, and the men standing guard at it.
"Hail Galen, hail Ytir!" He called out, his voiced slightly muffled from the cloth. The man on the right, an older greybeard, raised his hand in greeting.
"Well, Boy, its abou' time ye came back. Galen here was starting ta get worried." Ytir chuckled, nudging his companion, who only scowled.
"That's because it'd somehow be my fault if you got yourself killed out there, running about like a child at the fair." Galen muttered, rubbing his gloved hands together to get some warmth back to them. "Hurry along and get something warm in your gut. It's going to be a cold one tonight. Colder than normal that is." Ytir gave a derisive snort.
"Gideon be sayin' tis gonna be colder than Auril's tits." Ytir said, drawing his sword part way from it's scabbard and inspecting it for rust. "Night's like this usually mean something bad up here. Best keep inside tonight, lad." The boy nodded in agreement, darting past the duo and through the gate, the growing darkness at his back. In the distance, he could hear the howling of wolves returning to their dens.
"I'll make sure Aettain brings some extra food out for the both of you." The boy called back to the two men as he headed to the warmth and familiarity of the mess hall.