Seth had reached out to the others. The ones who had stayed, and survived. The ones who had risen up here two hundred, three hundred, four hundred years before. These who had learned quickly what the winters could do, and how to protect themselves from it. Those who waited, and watched, and had seen their island overcome.
Seth had reached out to each of them, in his way. We are here! he had told them. This island is ours, once again. Look around you. See the little ones; the new survivors. And he had listened. And what he heard in response had brought him as close to fear as he had ever been.
He heard silence.