'When's Sir Arctosz gonna give us new hunting gear? Hey, Joanna, still using that spring trap your old man gave you a while back? How's the hunting lately, getting enough to eat?' 'Joanna's twice the hunter you are. She's perfectly fine using older traps and crossbows. You need to train harder, not hope for shiny new contraptions.' 'Well, what d'you want me to do? If I started training right now until I'm as good as her, all the animals on the mountain would've run off already, and all that training would go to waste.' 'The railroad construction shouldn't affect the forest for too much longer... Hmm, have you considered moving down the mountain? I heard old Hans followed his son and daughter-in-law to the city recently.' The villagers chatter away about the rumblings of the trains through the forest, the long level roads and the many marketplaces those roads connect to. Joanna sits to the side, adjusting her old spring trap. There are dark, minute gouges between its iron teeth thanks to many years of use, but its clasp remains nimble. She does not speak, simply retightening the trap in silence. She uses her fingertips to push down on the spring, ensuring its jaws still mesh together. Soon, she waves goodbye to the villagers as she begins today's hunt. The sky is darkening, and a narrow hollow mars the vast snowfield, a shivering cloudbeast reclining within. The trap is not far, so it was most likely lured over by the scent of bait. A cloudbeast this young should not be out alone like this. Its fur has not yet lengthened, and its claws lack the length and strength to grasp. It must have wandered off from its kin. It tries to move forward, but the frigid wind forces it to curl up even tighter. Joanna crouches down, packing up the trap. She makes no move to capture the young beast, instead taking out some jerky and breaking off a small piece to gently place on the ground. She knows that with no one to care for this cloudbeast, it will not survive the cold night. She looks at the trembling beastling, a complex bitterness welling up in her chest. Has Dad come back from the train station yet? A thought suddenly comes to Joanna. Maybe one day, her family will move down the mountain too. Maybe one day, her dad will agree to work at the crafting hall, where he can keep carving statues of Kjeragandr in a workshop... Kjeragandr's body stands as tall as ever, the endless freezing winds whistling past as they always have, and the spring trap her dad gave her still works great. It's not like everyone really needs new tools or a new place to be. Why does it feel like the more the land moves forward, the less people can actually hold onto? Joanna cradles the beastling, tucking it inside her jacket. It snuggles against her, the tips of its fur dripping with melted snow. The touch of cold water against her chest jolts her. She looks down at the weak cloudbeast. It seems to have settled down a little. 'Let's leave it for tomorrow. I'll go hunting with everyone then. There's always a way.' A faint pulse beats against Joanna's chest. The snowy path under her stretches on in peaceful silence.