WARNING! The following page contains spoilers for the lore of Worlds Adrift
A most extraordinary sight. That is to say, the Tarrery, marching full of life beyond round stone dwellings surrounded by stick fences, out into a terrible blizzard. How cold it is, where the warm sea does't lap. But they are resolute, because they have one another. Their long whaling spears wobble in their hands as the clamber into skyrafts - former seafaring vessels, that now use Atlas. They are able to rise and fall upon the whales they hunt at their leisure.
"Life is easier now," said one, in a voice alternating between gruff and shrill, "but ours are still the old ways."
Of course he means that they never kill a whale for sport, nor the sacred white wolf neither. But if the must make a kill, then they offer gentle thoughts to the animal, and ask for forgiveness from the spirits in the moments before the spear is thrown. They waste no part of the creature, since in such a barren expanse, they must make use of anything and everything.