Winter has brought yet another surprise—one that I'm still wrapping my head around. This land, it seems to shift and change with the seasons, revealing new threats and creatures that weren't here before. As I wandered through the grassland today, I came across something that definitely hadn't been there before Winter arrived: a Walrus Camp. Yet another thing that I know what it is somehow... It's a strange, igloo-like structure, nestled into the snow-covered ground, and it wasn't there just days ago. Winter has brought it to life, as if the cold itself gave birth to it. I watched from a distance, careful not to get too close. I've learned that curiosity can get you killed in this world. And what I saw fascinated—and frightened—me. The Walrus Camp houses a small but formidable hunting party: MacTusk, a hulking walrus armed with a blow dart, his son -I suppose-Wee MacTusk, and two Blue Hounds. They wander near the igloo by day, patrolling their little patch of territory. MacTusk doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave his winter home, and from what I've observed, he's highly territorial. When he becomes hostile, he makes this odd slashing gesture with his tusks, and then he shoots—a dart from his blowgun. Quick and efficient. His son, Wee MacTusk, doesn't seem to fight directly, I mean he is young it seems but he commands the hounds to do his dirty work. The Blue Hounds, though, are a whole different story. Even though they look like normal hounds with blue furs, they're fast, vicious, and coordinated, waiting for a signal to attack. I've seen them barking, eager for a fight, and I have no doubt they could tear through anything foolish enough to provoke them.
What's fascinating—and terrifying—is that these creatures are seasonal. The igloo wasn't here before Winter, which means this world responds to the changes in temperature and time. The monsters change. The environment shifts. It's alive in ways I never could've predicted. This entire world is a machine, constantly adjusting, evolving—bringing new dangers with each passing day. The creatures, the camps, the very landscape itself—they all adapt to the season.
I've noticed that at night, the Walrus Camp lights up. That's when the hunting party returns to their igloo, presumably to rest. It's almost peaceful to watch, but I know better than to trust appearances. They're out there now, walking around, but I know that at the slightest sign of trouble, those hounds will be on me in a heartbeat. And at night, if the hounds bark, MacTusk and Wee MacTusk will jump out ready to fight. But why do they only appear in the Winter? What about this cold season draws them out? This whole world is like that—things appear and disappear with the seasons, as if I'm watching some grand cosmic experiment unfold. Sometimes it feels like I'm the subject of that experiment. It's unsettling, to say the least, but there's also a strange beauty to it. I never could've imagined something like this back home. The way the world changes, the way it shifts and adapts—it's almost poetic. Almost. If it wasn't trying to kill me all the time...
I've spent most of today observing the camp from a distance, wondering if it's worth the risk to engage with them. They're hostile to just about everything, but perhaps I can find a way to exploit that—turn their aggression against the other creatures in this world. There might be a strategy here, but for now, I'll bide my time.
One thing is certain: Winter has changed this world completely. The monsters, the threats—they've all adapted to the cold, and I'll need to adapt too if I want to survive.