The Indie Informer

I don’t want to write this review — mostly because I’d rather be back in Winter Burrow‘s gorgeously illustrated world of comfort and confrontation. Its welcoming approach to survival games will reassure even the most reluctant to the genre. At the same time, it ensures long-time fans stay engaged with crafty secrets and cloaked crevices tucked into every environment.

Even more compelling are the tangle of characters that inhabit this world. Their stories are bitter and sweet and sometimes mundane in a way that speaks directly to me. While trying to keep myself alive in the dead of winter, the plights of those around me make me forget to selfishly hoard resources and instead strike out to help them. The weather is a constant, looming danger, and that makes any trip into the unknown risky. It also makes returning home to the warm fire and self-decorated comfort all the more heartening.

Death dogs my steps from the outset; my adventure would never have been without it. So, if you are expecting a purely cozy experience, you’ll be in for a rude awakening. The bolts of darkness are not deterrents, but rather helping hands in crafting a world centered on appreciating small blessings. A warmer coat, a new discovery, a found friend, all shine in comparison.

The narrative is not the only component bolstered by this concept. Winter Burrow is a survival game. It requires players to find a way to live in a harsh, if glittering, winter. To do this, I have to gather resources like twigs, pebbles, and plant fiber to build up my home.

A repaired armchair grants me the ability to knit more suitable outfits. A workbench allows me to turn rough-hewn wood into furniture. And the small stove, coated with a little elbow grease, offers me a menu of woodland delicacies. Besides adding much-appreciated character to my snug space, these also produce buffs for facing the outside world.

The cold bites hard. I watch a meter on the bottom of the screen closely while I venture out to monitor how much energy I have left, how hungry I grow, and how near to freezing I become. The last bar depletes alarmingly fast, highlighted by a ring of frost on the screen that creeps farther into my field of view as my little mouse gets closer to perishing from the chill.

My hardiness, or lack thereof, determines how far I can travel. This cleverly gates off areas until later in the game. More than a few times, I found myself rushing home to beat frostbite, barely reaching the door before meeting an untimely end. I love the sight of my fireplace.

I also had a memorable moment when, curiosity getting the better of me, I pushed forward into a recently discovered wilderness path until night found me out in the open. I can’t express the relief I felt when I stumbled over the remains of a campfire and some kindling. Mechanically, this is the developer offering me a way to travel further abroad without heading home to sleep. But in that moment, it felt like a gift from a kind universe in my desperation.

The gameplay builds on itself in a way that makes it hard to stop playing. Ranging further means finding new resources, unlocking new building recipes, and unlocking better gear. Superior gear grants me the ability to get through areas previously blocked off by hard rocks or twisting brambles and stay warm long enough to search the newly opened environment dripping with secrets.

This is common with this type of game, but Winter Burrow’s version of it is vastly accommodating. Inventory space is always tight, but dropped resources don’t fade away. My feelings on this are mixed. I appreciate how this might mitigate frustration for less assured players. However, it does lessen the stakes. I also noticed — what might have been a technical hiccup that hopefully gets smoothed out in the final release — resources would pile up if never collected. Consequently, I would pass by reality-breaking levels of certain items (like berries around my burrow). I have to admit it helped enormously to keep my stores stocked, but it did feel cheap.

Combat is also remarkably gentle. Some enemies’ physical appearance posed a bigger threat to me than their attacks ever did. I don’t mind this, as the real enemy is the cold. Having to repeat an unsuccessful fight while far away from home would be more tedious than anything.

Meeting and helping the creatures around you is like drinking a warm cup of tea in a blanket after plodding through slush. Their stories are brief, but complex. They touch on things like unforced loneliness, shrinking yourself for others, harmful self-reliance, and unjust fairness. Sharing their burdens strengthened our bonds and made me happy to be of service, whether they needed a pile of rocks or view-changing knowledge. It helps that the area around them was warm and boosted my frost meter in a pinch, and they often gifted me recipes to help me journey onward.

Nine hours after reaching a ramshackle stump in the woods, I’d transformed my home into a cheerful shelter. Filled with well-earned comforts gathered from across varied landscapes and friends’ warm regards. Its intentional approachability can err on the side of feeling too easy, but the constant, looming danger of winter goes a long way towards balancing the scales. Still, the only thing I want to do right now is return to my roaring fireplace and brave the frosts in Winter Burrow.