Snow seems to fall continously this time of year. It's frigid yet it provides Murro with the escape from society he desired for so long.

The disheveled man lies in the mouth of a small cave, obscured by lichen and a curtain of falling snow. He curls himself around his boar companion, absent mindedly playing with the creatures fur.

these particular woods that murro finds himself in are often the setting of countless folk stories of strange monsters wandering the trees. However, Murro imagines he would feel much more at home among things never before seen than among humans.