It happened so suddenly. I woke up this morning to find the world... different. The colors are all wrong—muted, cold. The greens of the grass and trees have turned to sickly shades of grey and blue, and the air—oh, the air is biting. It's like the very atmosphere has been drained of warmth overnight. The chill is bone-deep, seeping through my clothes as if they're made of paper.
Winter. It's here. And I wasn't ready. I should have known. The signs were all there, the shortening days, the crisp air... but I wasn't expecting it this soon. I thought I had more time—time to prepare, to gather more supplies, to build something that could keep the cold at bay. But no, winter came like a thief in the night, and now I'm caught out here, far from camp, with nothing but a Koalefant carcass and the barest hint of shelter.
I managed to bring down the beast last night. It wasn't as difficult as I feared—the poor thing barely put up a fight once I cornered it. I thought I'd be celebrating today, feasting on its meat, maybe even crafting something from its thick trunk to help keep me warm. But instead, I'm huddled in the freezing cold, trying to figure out how I'm going to make it back to camp before I freeze solid. The cold... it's unlike anything I've experienced. Every breath feels sharp in my lungs, and the wind howls through the barren landscape, biting at my exposed skin. My fingers are going numb as I write this, and I can feel the frost creeping into my bones. The world is quiet, deathly still, except for the occasional crunch of frozen grass beneath my boots. Even the creatures seem to have vanished, likely hunkering down in whatever shelter they can find.
I need to get moving. If I stay here any longer, I'll die. The fire I built last night is little more than embers now, and there's no time to gather enough wood to keep it going. I've packed what I can from the Koalefant—enough meat to last me a few days, if I can make it back. But the cold makes every step feel like a marathon. My body is stiff, sluggish, and my mind... my mind is playing tricks on me. I swear I can hear whispers on the wind, though I know that's just the creeping madness that this place inspires. The path back to camp is long, and I have no real protection against the cold. No winter clothes, no proper shelter waiting for me. I was so focused on surviving day-to-day that I didn't see this coming. Now, I'm paying for it.
I'll have to move quickly and hope I can gather enough twigs and grass to keep a fire going as I make my way back. But it's getting harder to think clearly. My thoughts keep drifting—visions of warmth, of food, of home. The campfire feels so far away, and my body is growing weaker with each passing moment.
I don't know how long I'll last out here. But I have to keep going. If I stop, if I let myself rest for even a moment... I fear that will be the end...