Vasya stumbled upright on feet she could no longer feel. Her head was bare to the night. It was snowing; the snowflakes tangled in her braid. She had gone beyond shivering; she felt heavy and dull. The man looked down at her, and she up at him. His eyes were pale as water, or winter ice. “Please,” whispered Vasya. “I am cold.” “Everything is cold here,” he replied. “Where am I?” He shrugged. “Back of the north wind. The end of the world. Nowhere at all.”
