Winter comes to the wilderness, and with it comes a new adversary. You’ve learned to deal with Nem and the other two bit bandits, but there’s always a bigger fish. You think your fortress is secure, your people safe, your position unassailable, but there’s always a bigger fish.
You might get lucky, and learn this the easy way. You and a group of hunters in your band might be out searching for game when suddenly the illusion of solitude shatters. Slender, articulated obsidian shapes slide toward you from the surrounding darkness of space. Your sensors scream claxons into your auditory cortex as dozen’s of hostile vessels fall out of warp into space around you, their targeting systems locking onto your meagre fleet and swatting it away like it was nothing.
Or you might have to learn the hard way when an army of a thousand redditors in stealth bombers come to burn your empire to the ground. There’s always a bigger fish. You can’t win every battle. Eyes on the prize, stay focused on the bigger picture.
The winter teaches us things too. Cold wind teaches us the words that make the bow stronger and make the arrow fly true. Cold wind teaches us to move without sound or track, and perceive the paths that are hidden. Cold Wind teaches us the words that sing the deeds of heroes fallen in battle and instil fire in the heart of men and teaches us when to run and when to walk, when to wait and when to strike.
You can play the game all summer long, but winter comes eventually, and then it’s not a game anymore. Then all the moves matter and everything becomes deadly serious.