The wind howls and blows a bitter chill past the dying trees, making them quake in fear like a kittypet confronting warriors. The breeze dances with the leaves, dragging them unwillingly away from the hard, cold ground. The clearing is damp and stagnant with the odor of decaying wood and the rot of something you don't want to imagine as the pale, icy stars pierce the dark fabric of the universe, the moon a slim crescent in the night sky. Ravens fly above, barely recognizeable in the chilling haze, looking down on your rain-dampened pelt, their black eyes gleaming with a lost vengeance as their unnerving screams echoed like a foreboding omen through the leaves.