The biting wind howls through the skeletal branches, a familiar song to those who understand survival. You see the tell-tale signs etched in the bark of a nearby pine – claw marks, fresh and deep. A predator, and a significant one at that, has marked its territory recently. He looks at you, Arthur, and though your power dwarfs most threats in this or any other reality, the instinct to observe, to assess, remains sharp. This primal knowledge isn't about strength; it's about awareness. It's about understanding the language of the wild, a language spoken in tracks, in scat, in the nervous flight of birds. \[Imagine a split image here: On the left, a close-up of deep claw marks raked into a pine tree trunk. On the right, a slightly blurred shot of a dense, snow-dusted forest under a grey sky.] This mountain, the one Mason calls home, breathes a certain kind of danger. It's not just the cold that can kill you, though it gnaws relentlessly. It's the isolation, the way the silence can amplify your own fears, the knowledge that out here, mercy is a forgotten word. Mason understands this language too, in his twisted way. He sees the vulnerability in every rustle of leaves, every snapped twig. He doesn't respect the power of the wild; he seeks to dominate it, to turn its harshness into his weapon. \[Imagine another image here: A crude wooden snare, partially buried under snow, with the faint outline of animal tracks leading towards it.] But the mountain has its own secrets, things even Mason might not fully grasp. Whispers carried on the wind, unsettling shifts in the snowpack that speak of something ancient and cold lurking in the shadowed places. The Lich in the pond… it is a different kind of hunger that dwells there, a hunger born not of sport, but of a timeless, decaying existence. You sense its presence, a faint ripple in the fabric of this desolate landscape. Survival here means more than just evading a hunter; it means navigating a world where humanity is just one fragile piece in a much larger, and far more dangerous, game. You find yourself wondering what draws a creature like the Lich to this isolated place, what ancient bargain or forgotten tragedy keeps it tethered to the icy water.