We are all that is left.
Our families — sold into slavery.
Our tribes — broken by greed and corruption.
Our land — frozen and withered by the footsteps of demons.
We are a people unmade.
But we are not dead, so long as our feet trod the barren earth and our lungs breathe the chill air and our eyes scan the cold horizon.
We are not dead, so long as our fingers grip our axes and draw our bows and strangle the life from our enemies.