Winter was without a doubt the most dangerous beast in all the lands. The bear maims to eat and protect its young. The mighty elk attacks to defend itself. But winter kills and maims without reason. Winter kills both old and young without remorse, shame or doubt. If one wants to survive, one must respect winter and its power. Respect and know one can never control winter. When winter came, the people were as close to the lands of Tuonela as a living person could get. Far too often, the deceitful beauty of winter and the soft snowy landscapes would draw young children in that would never be seen again or discovered far too late, bodies withering yet still preserved under a thick blanket of snow. Winter was a time of reverence and grief for many families. A time to huddle inside cabins and shelters with a warm fire to keep the chill away from their bodies and ale to keep their minds sane until spring. Spring wasn't clear of dangers either of course, as the creatures of the forest stirred then, hungry and ready for trickery after a long winter of rest. 

That night the wind had been howling relentlessly and the door of the cabin had been firmly shut since morning, rattling with the force of the wind. Winter was knocking, wanting and waiting to be let in to claim another victim. By the fire, the Hirvonen family patriarch, Unto sat on his rocking chair, silently whittling on a piece of wood. His hands were rough and calloused, but moved with precision only years of practice could bring. His wife Raakel knelt by the fire, tending to it to make sure there wasn't even the slightest chance of it growing dull or going out. The fire was vital after all for without it, they would all freeze to death before morning. Unto would occasionally pause his whittling, giving her a silent glance, a plea to just leave it for now and go to bed, but Raakel refused to budge. As the man of the house, Unto was trusted to take care of anything and everything vital that a man was expected to do. After all, he had even built this cabin for them with his own hands, or so he liked to think, despite the fact that a cabin of this size had required several men to complete properly. But tending to a fire during a winter night was the one thing Raakel would never allow anyone else to do.  

When she was a child, Raakel had fallen asleep during a snowstorm one night and her younger sister had taken this opportunity to sneak out of their home and wander into the storm. By the next morning, not even her footsteps were found. It had been years since that fateful night, but every winter, especially on nights like this, one could see sorrow and grief in Raakels eyes. That same grief and sorrow could be seen dulling the eyes of her mother all the way until she passed on. Raakels hands shook as she placed another log into the fire. She could still picture her younger sister on that day, wearing her brand new fur hat and smiling. She must have had that same smile as she wandered outside, just for a moment lost in a winter wonderland. And how that same smile would have dulled as the wind picked up and the cold sliced into her skin. As her every footstep was wiped away the minute she moved on. Cold, alone and no way home. Death by freezing was a terrifying thing even for an adult. Your fingers and toes would grow numb and blacken and your sanity would dwindle to nothingness. Raakel blinked rapidly and closed her eyes, chasing away the image of her sisters corpse with blackened limbs and frozen hair. She turned her gaze to her children's beds, both of them peacefully sleeping despite the wind.  

On the left slept their oldest child, their twelve-year old daughter Tyyne who had inherited her mothers green eyes and her fathers brown hair. She was a precocious brisk child, always willing to explore and cause worry. Tyyne was often found playing games with the village boys, never afraid to put her foot down. If Tyyne wanted to play hunter with the boys, that's what Tyyne did. Thankfully she had grown a sense of responsibility since becoming an older sister and dutifully did her chores, a habit Raakel was endlessly thankful for. If only she was willing to accept her blossoming womanhood and her future as a wife and mother. In her arms slept her nine-year old brother Pekka, his own hands softly clutching a wooden cow his father had once whittled for him. He was the spitting image of his mother, much to his fathers dismay, curly blonde hair, green eyes and freckles and all. His disposition however was just like his fathers, strong and silent. In fact, Pekka spoke so little some thought he wasn't capable of speaking at all. That didn't seem to deter him from causing trouble however, as he had more than once been caught attempting to sneak off with hunting supplies. Raakel smiled as she looked at them, but quickly turned her attention back to the fire. She couldn't allow herself to falter now, not with morning still several hours away.