For those who watch carefully, the fell folk may still be glimpsed staring down from the wind swept bluffs in the far North. They are not hiding, no; just wary. And who, after all, could blame them? Laughter and music used to roll off the hills each night. There is no laughter now, and when music is heard, it is quiet and forlorn.
As the maps become sharper and the fog of war recedes, we learn about the world but forget about ourselves. The fell folk know. After hearing their stories, you might too.