I suppose we're too in the thick of things to ask the gods to make these houses easier to manage.

[Fingon shakes his head.]

The game stayed right where it was- the first time at least. It was we who moved.

Our king was murdered, you see. And when the murderer fled, we chased after him and settled another land. But our Enemy was old and powerful, and could pour poison into the earth itself. Over time, the lands nearest his dwelling place withered little by little and many of the animals that had dwelt there began to flee.

Some of the southern lands still do well. But we've been supplementing our stocks with imports for nigh on twenty years, now.