:: A sky white with snow blanketed the horizon and distorted the scene that currently was quite active for the deathly cold of the surrounding environs. The only sign of activity being the short choppy movements of the balls of white near ground level of the white plains. Men, mostly, draped in heavy white wolf hides trudged along, gathering, cutting, scoring blocks of ice that would provide the water, shelter, and general means of living for the next few months. They worked diligently, caring not for themselves, yet only thinking of those that would benefit from their toils -- and toil they did.

A short breeze cut through the blistering winds that made the cold even colder, the pain more painful. The short breeze was warm, nearly comforting if it wasn't for the smell of death, disease, and despair that it carried with it. All of the men, all possessing a heightened sense of smell, especially for difference among smells, arched their back upward, coming to their full and colossal heights and erect stances. Their gaze wandered not to the South but to a single of their group, an even larger, more alarmingly huge, man of the Wastes, complete with his great white wolf hides adorning nearly every part of his figure. This man. This man was the only one who looked South just as he began to feel the piercing questioning eyes of his fellow Men. Even his best friend, Telos, the largest White Wolf that any man, Northern or Southern, had ever seen, looked up at him.

They knew this smell, the change in the wind. The Southern parts of Middle-Earth were gripped with dastardly deeds and none other than their great King, the man that stood with them working harder, longer than they did would ultimately trade in his tools of labor for those tools of war. The colossus being turned to them, a look of longing sorrow hung on his face, knowing that this may be the time he did not come back but knowing that he couldn't ignore it either. He eased them with a nod. He would come back. A work and battle-hardened hand came down and gripped the hair on the back of the large white wolf's neck and the wolf tilted up to the descending face of its rider, master, and best friend. The man spoke a few words in the language of their people and soon they were off at blinding speeds, melting a path behind them, and outracing even the winds and snow itself.

They headed South to face the Black Enemy that returned. ::