Fallen is leaf, dead is bloom,

Soon buried 'neath an icy tomb.

The field lies bare with harvest brought,

What once was green, now brown with rot.

But still my hearth, against the cold

Burns hot and bright like stars of old.

My heart, like fire held within

Will keep my strong 'gainst Winter's wind.

Now sky is grey and ground is white,

The sun spreads only feeble light.

It took her far too long to understand those who had risked their lives to save her brother. The brother she remembered as selfish, uncaring, jaded by long wars that he never should have fought in. She thought she would be the only one willing to save him. Even Cardanith showed a glimmer of hesitation when it came to him. But she was wrong.

“I’m… sorry, hiril. I don’t understand,” Ithilwe says as he looks to her with eyes lost in confusion and grief. “You did not die. You are in front of me here, alive, breathing.”