Note: this is an entirely ficticious narrative

The snow is the first distinct memory I have. I remember the swirling snowflakes falling out of the sky. I don't think I'd ever seen snow before, but for some reason it just seemed right. I don't have any idea how I got on the ridge, how I'd made it through snowbanks which reached above my head. I couldn't have been more than six or seven years of age, although I guess I don't really know that for sure either. Thinking back from that time there are only feelings and misplaced images, softness and light, warmth, moving at great speeds along a black line in some flat valley. A world that was ordered, but at the same time, felt wrong. It was the bluntest contrast possible with the razor-sharp cold of those snowflakes, cutting my face. Somehow I stumbled onto the vast upland plateau, and plodded to the east rim. I remember falling, twice, into the snow. The second time the ground fell out from beneath me, and I fell from a ledge, landing in a soft bank of snow below me. Looking back, I must have fallen down a low point in the West Cliffs, which in and of itself is hard to believe. I slept. It couldn't have been long that I lay in the snowbank but it felt like eternity. I didn't expect to ever wake up, somehow as young as it was, I had some awareness that it would probably be the end. But the air carried voices, crisp as ice. I forced my eyes open, and saw a valley before me, sheltered from the blizzard. There seemed to be lights in the distance. Walking towards me was an old man, shrouded in a thick blanket. Beside him was a young girl, wrapped in his cloak. It was her eyes that brought me back, made me wake up. They seemed to melt right into me. The next thing I knew, I was on a soft cot in a small room, next to a fire. This is where it all started.....

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