Dejah strides ahead, unaccustomed to making her way through knee deep snow and fighting for every step. Her breath fogs in the air and a rime of ice is beginning to form on the scarf over her mouth.

"Woola?" The calot course corrects so he can break trail for her.

The barn is dark, and there are no voices, only the soft breathing of the residents. "Curtis?" Nothing.

They're not here.