Only Zayshara remains now. Hiding, hoping, weeping. Azin believes that my little Elzhar could not have survived the cold or the creatures that roam these wretched hills. He said it was a mercy that our little one wandered off. That Elzhar would curl up in a drift of this killing snow and sleep peacefully until the cold drew out his last breath. But Azin is wrong. A mother's heart, it knows. You will find me through these memories. My heart knows this.