[northern territories, 16th century.]

This far north, hang around long enough and your chances of survival dwindle their way down to zero pretty fast. Nomads wander through every so often, but they're gone quick enough, hastened along by awful dreams and shadows in the dark.

It suits his mood. He dresses up the shadows with sharper teeth than he'd normally allow and lets them do their work, for little reason other than spite and staking his territory. Eventually, travelers learn to avoid his circle of land, and the frozen earth grows silent except for his own breath.

It's perfect, as far as he's concerned.