[Tell me how I'm doing!]

Winter whispered in Minerva's

ears, voice light in the frostcut air. She found

something reassuring in it. Something which

reminded her of home. A notion foreign to the

lattice of freezing spires trapping the party.

Snow flurried in gentle spirals about what was

truly the remnants of the few lucky survivors:

Other than Minerva, only Demitri staggered

on with a single, unconscious child wrapped

in blankets. Young Tygve, curled in his

blanket and the remnants of Demitri's cape.

The boy didn't seem as if he'd be waking

soon.

Eyes swept across a pale desert,

the forms of craggy rocks and ledges long

buried in the snow. The Algidspires were

beautiful and terrible. The sun, even hiding,

painted a prism across the desert of snow.

The crunching sound they made as they

passed through was nearly unbearably loud

compared to the silence. To look back

again, to see the foot prints marring the

smooth snow, would be an admission of her

being an unworthy blemish on the land. It

seemed more than a bit hopeless to press

on further. All she wanted to do was lull

herself to sleep on the rhythm of the wind.

But the fragments wouldn't let her. And

Demitri. He especially wouldn't be the one to

let the frost settle in her veins. A true knight,

one who had done his duty and deserved a

break. One her age who could never be the

same after spilling blood in her name.

It was there she swore. Once

everything was righted, she would never

bother Demitri with her wishes again. Even, to

go against his wishes to keep him from

becoming involved in more of this strife... If they made it out of the current situation alive.