The cold blades of the wind etched the pale skin of her face, her rosy cheeks were dying.
Her fleshy and now chapped lips trembled with every movement of the wind.
The forces were about to leave her there, helpless and alone.
Those mountains so soft for the white but so cold and hard for the gray, motionless they watched her from the top of their vanity and might.
Suffering, he proceeded in that icy meadow. As his feet sank into the powdery ice, his muscles seemed to paralyze.
The...