The undead move slowly, staggering forward as if half asleep. They reach with their decayed, skeletal fingers, clawing at the air as they reach for me. Their mouths hang open in silent screams. The snow isn't high enough or packed enough for them to climb over the wall, but they flail their arms against the stone all the same, trying to grab anything. The fortifications are strong but not invulnerable. We'll have to clear them out and fast. The undead are attracted to their own as much as to the living. Where there's one, thousands more are sure to follow.