It's cold. The hides wrapped around me don't seem to do much good. The snow's been coming down for three days. From my guard post on the wall, I can barely see more than a dozen paces, the flames of my torch swallowed up by the storm. Supplies are scarce and we can't scavenge again until the spring thaw. My rifle only has half a clip left. Shivering badly. I've got to stay alert. The undead are out there. They're like the snow, blanketing the world until nothing else can be seen. I'm tired. Got to stay awake. So cold.