The wind, carrying ice and frost, howled through the sky like the wailing of ghosts.
Snowflakes shrouded the light, turning the entire field of vision into a blanket of white.
As Lide pondered, the figure of Castro suddenly slowed down.
"Master, below us lies the Iron Hoof Tribe..."
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice as thunderous as rolling thunder, and when he looked down sideways, a vast expanse of buildings came into his view.
From high above, the edge was nowhere in sight; the houses, mostly single-storied, didn't seem low despite that, with snow piling up on the roofs, accumulating like rounded steamed buns.
On the crisscrossing streets, only a sparse number of Centaurs were seen clearing away the snow, with nearly no pedestrians to speak of.
This place was entirely like a human city—except for the lack of walls.
More than a year had passed since his last visit, and the Iron Hoof Tribe had been completely transformed.
