Winter had fully settled over the Lion Village by now. The snow no longer looked new or pretty.
After being stepped on day after day by dozens of feet, dragged through by sleds of wood and meat, and mixed with ashes from the cooking fires, it had become a rough white blanket with patches of dirt and slush everywhere. Even so, the village looked more alive than it had ever looked before.
From above, the place no longer resembled the small poor village it used to be.
There were stronger walls now, taller watchtowers, more houses, more smoke rising from more fireplaces, and more people moving around with purpose. The paths between houses had been packed down properly. The storage pits had covers. The meat smoking sheds stood in neat rows. Even the women's sewing area, which used to look like a random pile of hides and complaints, now looked busy and organized.
It was still not a city.
But it had already stopped looking like a simple village.
