Winter has returned, it would seem, though the sun would tell it to be mid-summer. The temperature has again dropped, and the wind batters Vinterstad. I have had to re-prioritize the completion of the infirmary before it is torn apart. Hræsvelg trolls the skies, searching, calling out with his fell shriek. I am disquieted by his sorties. He hunts for something that does not belong to this world.

The infirmary is now complete. Tjokaben and I have toiled many nights to collect lumber and finish the task. We could not have finished soon enough, as this new cold is bitter and deadly. We are safe inside, but there are surely others on the tundra who are suffering through this unexpected change in clime.

Interestingly, the wolves seem to be thriving despite the cold. Their numbers are greater, and they appear very healthy. How they linger outside Niaafjöl. It almost seems as though Jötnar is calling them to him.