Amid the wind and snow, Nora tightened her collar and tucked her head deeper into her clothes.
Her armor was filled with the Northern Territory's windblown snow, stuck fast to its cotton lining and impossible to separate.
Nora turned to look at Grisha beside her. The boy was drowsing, his head bobbing bit by bit.
The two of them were on watch tonight.
Nora poked at the bonfire before her. The dancing flames grew a little stronger, temporarily driving away the biting wind.
Sometimes, she would think of her days in Castel. There, she did not need to wear heavy cotton clothes. The Banshees' scales glittered beneath the sunlight, like the colorful pebbles at the bottom of the Koller River.
The Banshees were awful. They always liked dragging her off to play football. Gwen would come chase them away, then carry her to find a bench, where the two of them would lean against each other and read newspapers stolen from Nini.
The sea breeze was cool and refreshing. They would fall asleep right there on the bench, dreaming of songs from the southern sea.
Nora opened her eyes. A layer of frost had already settled on her eyelashes, and snowflakes were swept toward her face by the cold wind.
This was the Northern Territory.
Nora's gaze dimmed slightly, then slowly hardened with resolve.
This was her homeland—the homeland she had left, only to return to in the end. She hated this place, yet loved it too.
It carried too many of her memories. Its wind and snow had long since seeped into her flesh and blood, her soul. She could never be separated from this land.
Wind and snow buried the past; the Holy Hall never forgot.
The Holy Hall was gone now, and the past had become nothing