Snow fell like ashes as a girl hugged her mother in the street. The woman was colder than the snow, but the young child couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything, numbed by the cold and the exhaustion of begging her mother to keep moving. She was too weak to drag her any further.

An old man found this scene. A child, no older than three, bundled tightly in a worn leather coat meant for a man. Her dark hair fell over the woman lying in the street, her dress scant and inappropriate for the chill of the winter that froze even the city's largest lake.

The man took his hat from his head and held it over his heart as he prayed to his lord silently. Finishing, he knelt by their side. “Amen.” His voice cut through the cold night as he placed the hat back on his head. He confirmed his feeling when he touched the woman's face. The cold bit against his skin as if the dead took offense to the living. “May you rest in the land of your lord and enjoy a field of their bounty.”

Now came the difficult part. He looked over at the young girl shivering against her mother's corpse. He laid a hand over her back and could feel her dying warmth through the jacket. “Poor child,” he said, offering an apology before he wrapped his hands around her and pulled her from the ground. She looked around, confused. Then, as if remembering something, she struggled, her soft eyes locking on her mother. She struggled harder.

“Mama!” she cooed, pain echoing in the soul of her voice. “Let me go!” she demanded. “Mama!” But the man didn't listen; instead, he silently carried her away. Even as her shouts drew the attention of passersby, it did little to aid her.

“Father?” a question cut into the air. The man looked at its caller and nodded in recognition.

“Sir James. I am sorry, but can you assist me?”

The man, Sir James, flicked his grey eyes between the girl and the priest. “Of course, Father, I am ever in the service of the church,” yet he held suspicion in his gaze. Though it might be seen as more of a curious gaze, the father knew better and understood. The hour was late, and here he was, carrying a struggling child in the dark, although she seemed to quiet down a bit now.

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“Down the way, in the third alley - the one where Paul sells his oils, there is a young woman who… didn't make it.”

“Ah… I see. And this one?”

“The mother gave her a coat, seemed the only thing they had between them,” he answered. James nodded, then sighed.

“I’ll get Scab to recover the body,” he said, turning to leave.

“Thank you, Sir James,” the father called after him. And with that, they both parted ways. Soon enough, the priest reached the church, crossing the garden to a large building behind the tall one with the mark of Böeut carved into the stone for all to see. The other building was bigger, though poorly kept. Still, it would do better than a night on the streets of Nalthus, especially this time of year.

The father entered the old orphanage. It was old wood, but cared for by the children who resided there, and as it was more busy work than anything else, it was well kept. The floor was stone, and there were some old furs and carpets donated by nobles who gained something better to replace them. There was one fur over the wooden wall that looked relatively new, a gift graciously given because High Leivon fur was out of season. Yet it kept the heat in and was welcome. There was a fire in the entryway, one of four that kept the building warm enough to scare away the chill of death.

It was here that the father placed her, in front of the fire, to warm her bones and hopefully heal a little bit of her soul. The father watched her for a bit, and when he was sure she wouldn’t try to run away, he retreated further into the orphanage. The girl stared into the flames. The heat was burning her, annoyingly so, as moments ago she was begging for its warmth. If only sooner, then… but it was… she shook her head and held onto the coat she wore with both hands.

If only she had paid attention to where that old man was taking her, she might have been able to run back to her mother's side. But she didn’t know where she was, and worse yet, she was afraid. She hugged herself, her head resting on her knees. It wasn’t until much later that she noticed the other boy that sat beside her. He wore simple clothes, had messy brown hair, and stared at her curiously with lemon yellow eyes.

For a moment, they looked at each other, then she turned back to the fire. For a while, they both watched the fire burn until the father returned.