I was so cold, my fingertips were black and tipped with white, and I could feel nothing. At some time I sat in the snow and took off my boots, and found that my feet were black. I put my boots back on, but could not bind the leather thongs. I tramped on, talking to myself, sobbing, laughing sometimes, on the edge of madness. I looked for the Firelord often, positive I would find him. At times I ran on, stumbling, convinced I’d see him, tall and kingly, on the way ahead. Then grief would hit me, sharp and cutting deep, deep. I cried helplessly, and my tears turned to burning ice on my cheeks.

I came to a cave, and saluted the Firelord’s sign on the entrance. Inside, I searched the shelves for firestones, for flints. There were none. Neither were there blankets, and the wine vessels all were empty, some broken on the floor. The cave had been ransacked.

I laughed hysterically when I realised it. The only cave of his I had ever seen robbed, and it had to be this one. I had no firestones, no flints, no fire to sustain my life. Without food I could live for forty days. But without fire I would not survive the four days left to Kasimarra.

I sat in the dirt at the edge of the frosty firepit, and pulled his divining robe closer about me. Night fell. The wind shifted and drove snow far into the cave, and the cold disturbed my mind. I found myself at some time in the night wandering outside in a blizzard, singing Quelled myths. Teraj stood in the snow holding a blazing torch and a scrolled book, but when I ran towards him he smiled and vanished. I heard Lesharo’s pipes, and followed them, almost falling into a crevasse. I could see nothing except visions that taunted me, and were lies.

Sometimes a terrible guilt flooded over me, for not going further to help my lord, and I tried to go back to the ravine, back to where he lay hurt and helpless, calling for me. I felt guilty for failing him, guilty for walking away, guilty for being alive. I heard voices, terrible accusing voices, and people came and looked on my despair, and spat, and said I caused his death. I crawled in the frozen dawn, through snow and ice and on the edges of ravines, crying out for help. The snow was piled high all around, and I could not walk. My clothes were soaking wet, and hard with ice. I was in agony with cold. My fingers were black, and somewhere I had lost one of my boots. My exposed foot and ankle were black and numb, and my limbs were like a stranger’s limbs, not mine. Even my spirit felt strange, almost separated from me. I felt near to death.