Defenders of the wall rally to my sounding of the horn. Swords, spears, machetes, and clubs do their violent work, dropping the undead in the thick snow drifts. The skirmish is quick and bloodless; the corpses are withered and dry. More will soon arrive and climb atop the remains to reach higher on the wall. Branches from trees, carved and bent into long shepherd hooks are used to snare the dead. Boots slide on the snow covered wall, but we persist, dragging zombies to the mountain edge. Like the Styx boatman Charon, we usher the dead away from the living.