The northern pass is clear. No sign of infiltration tonight. The lingering corruption there always feels... different. Cold. It doesn't hunger like the zombies. It just wants to unmake. My purification magic scours it away, but the emptiness it leaves behind is unsettling. Returning to the monastery grounds, to the warmth of the lit windows and the smell of Haanja's cooking, always feels like a small victory. The contrast is what we fight for. The boundary between the absolute wrongness out there and the fragile rightness in here must be held. Always.