Snowflakes tumbled down all around her in a tranquil-twirling dance. As she continued to walk through the large, open garden, a cloud of snowflakes would follow within her wake. It seemed that even nature wanted to cloak her in majestic robes of pure white. Not a single sound could be heard. Nature was holding her breath in an expectant hush. The playful wind, not wanting to be outdone, would occasionally catch a handful of the tender snowflakes and throw them wistfully at her hooded figure.

Galen studied her thoughtfully as she came to stand within the centre of the frozen garden. Turning around, she smiled up at him, her sky-blue eyes piercing into his very soul, warm, loving and trusting. Her mere presence quieted the insistent pull and call of the Virès within him, dimming its voice until he could barely sense it. Tenderly she touched his cheek, her eyes big and twinkling, searching.

His heart ached at the sight of her beauty and serenity. Even amidst all the war and despair around them, she remained his island of peace, his refuge.

Smiling, carefully, she removed her hand from his cheek, pausing to catch a couple of stray snowflakes. A frown creased her face for a split second as she watched the snowflakes melting from the heat of her skin.

“Snowflakes.” She whispered, “Are they not like the dreams of men, Galen?” her voice, soft, insistent.

“They are given their life by fickle winds of passion and secretive, often unspoken words.” She continued, withdrawing her hand back into the warmth of her white robes. “As easily as they are shaped, they are also that easily removed from existence, are they not?”

She paused, crystal blue eyes returning to his. “What then, Galen? What happens with all these dreams, once their creators have abandoned them? Do they, like snowflakes, melt and cease to be, leaving behind nothing but an empty coldness? Instead of having this uncomfortable feeling on your skin, you end up feeling the coldness within your heart?”

Slowly Galen shook his head, eyes searching her lips, taking a step closer to her, snow crunching beneath his boots. “How am I to answer that, my lady?” he whispered hoarsely, finding his throat suddenly dry, his voice that of an old man.

“Who will record their stories Galen? What happened to their struggles and triumphs? Was it all pointless?” she asked, her eyes widening in distress. “Who will remember them?”

Within an instant he was standing before her, his dark robes seemed to swallow up all the light around her. “Don’t think like that!” he growled under his breath, arms wrapping around her. “As long as we are here, we will remember them.” He paused, feeling her pressing up against him, into the comfort of his warm embrace. “Every dream, every forgotten wish and lost hope. We will remember.”