A few words, a sketch of a face, some silver, and that’s all it takes for someone to die in these wild parts. You know part of my story already, don’t you?
“I miss the music,” he thought. “The women used to sing such wonderful songs. Full of power and beauty.” Only now was Taro beginning to regret his long journey, as the nightly winds chilled his weary bones.
May the gods have mercy on this child, he thought. In a few moments, he knew the gods cared not for his prayer. The blood was still warm, and refused to freeze. With a solemn face, he returned to the home and made his announcement to the parents: the girl has Iceblood, the blood of the Iceborn.
Deep darkness had covered all the land on that moonless night, and all of the other clanspeople had long retired to their tents. Only a grandfather and his granddaughter remained, entertaining the campfire with tales of heroes of ages long past.