It was so cold. An icy mixture of snow and sleet tore at her skin and thin clothing with icy fingers. Her toes had long since lost feeling and her fingers were soon going to follow suit. But she had to keep going. She had to find him, to reach him. Every time the wind howled she heard him call her name though she didn't recognize his voice. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure why she had this terrible need to find him, this stranger. All she knew was that if she didn't she was going to lose him forever.

In this sort of weather one wrong step was all it took and Maegwen's next step was just that. Her foot slipped and the world began to fall all around her. A blur of white that quickly dissolved into blackness.

Meg woke with a start, her eyes opening to the darkness of her room. The dream. Every night since she'd woken here she'd been plagued by the same dream. It didn't make much sense to her, except for the snow. The elderly couple who had found her had said she'd been half buried and was lucky to have survived with all of her limbs intact. Amazingly enough, the cold had actually saved her life. A nasty gash to her head would have caused her to bleed out had the cold not slowed the flow of blood and helped the wound itself seal faster.

She owed her life to the Blythe family and spent most of her days helping Mrs. Blythe around the house. Mr. Blythe was a merchant and he and his son had been passing through Whitefall on their way back to Ryvan when they came across her. In fact, if it hadn't been for his horse throwing a shoe neither would have seen her.

For three days Maegwen had struggled against a fever and by the end of the first week she was able to complete small tasks without much assistance so long as she took care to rest regularly. Her health was improving with each day but one thing that eluded her were her memories. Memories of a life prior to the one she discovered upon waking. All she had was a name, a name she heard over and over in her dreams, one she accepted as hers only because it felt comfortable. Meg.

As the pounding in her chest subsided and her breathing grew more even she pushed herself upright and peered towards the open window where a cool breeze caused the curtains to flutter slightly. It was odd how the climate could shift so drastically from one place to the next. The southern half of Ryvan experienced rather mild winters, the coldest days of the year hardly cold at all compared to some regions. Slipping out of the bed she draped a robe over her shoulders and padded silently to the window. She wouldn't linger long lest she catch a chill but as she peered out into the darkness beyond she couldn't help wondering where she had come from, if anyone was looking for her. More importantly she found herself worrying about just where it was she was going.