Winter. The time when the swamp sleeps and young and old alike huddle shivering in their dens, waiting for the pale sun to rise again to bring them a brief reprieve. A hard time, a sad time, a time of not enough, when all life grows still and cold.
But it is your time. You belong to winter. You endure where others cannot. Winter is a burden which rests deep in your heart, coloring you, bleaching you white and cold and austere, never to fully understand the warmer world that others know. It is a heavy burden, but while you must bear winter, in return you are by winter borne.
Winter takes care of its own.