Snow fell soft and thick. The Peak of Whispering Winds lay buried in white.
Theron stood clutching the paper he also brought alone, the one that showed the date of his son's birth.
His face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then he checked it again, where the date January 14th, 2023 was still written before his eyes, two weeks after the New Year, right in the dead of winter.
Perfectly matched. Not an hour different.
"This cannot be. How can this be!" Theron swayed, his tall frame staggering, nearly falling face-first into the deep snow.
The paper he had guarded so carefully slipped from his fingers and drifted down, to be swallowed by the white. His eyes burned red. He forced his shaking body to rise. But his knees had knelt all night. He could not feel them.
Gritting his teet
