The mud was never-ending. The only thing that was more boundless than the mud, and the desperation, was the cold. It got into everything—the ground, the homes, the people There was a brief period in the summer when you could use the mud (still chilled in winter’s wake) to patch holes in the sides of your house, and to use it to insulate just a touch from the oncoming cold. Winter came quickly, then. It rode in on the first westerly breeze and lasted for months upon months. And the people… they froze. Or died of malnutrition. Then froze.