Dawn. The sun climbs over the horizon with golden fingers. I'm tired. The undead have been cleared, but there will be more, always more. I climb down the ladder on the wall, across the courtyard, and into the stronghold. Torches light my way. My room is cramped; I collapse on my cot and drape its fur pelts over me. Sleep, but not rest. Nightmares are common. Dreams of the dead, dying, and those trapped in between. Such are the days and nights of those who survive in an undead world. We'll endure. We'll prevail, taking shelter in our mountain refuge.