The winter doesn’t affect the deep forest as badly as the dwellings of the Woodsmen. There, despite discreet gifts of food left near villages, hunger and cold take a harsh toll.
Thranduil shakes his head and grimaces as he swirls the last drops of wine in his glass. Things are not all bad. Elves don’t feel the cold so much, and they can forage and hunt. The few spiders that come near Elven settlements are sluggish from the cold, and easily killed or driven off. But why is the only wine to make it to Laketown’s market this vinegary misery?