Mirelle Tathvir read those words only once.
The tundra's wind chill cut at her face, brushing pale strands of her hair as the sun set. Gold and rose melted into the ice, transforming the unending white into colorful spindles. Her otter shifted at her side, cuddling close to her arm, its small hand holding her own. She didn't say anything. Instead, her fingers relaxed their grip on the page, allowing it to lie in her lap while her gaze shifted outward, toward the setting sun. There was no question in her expression, just a steady, blossoming relief.A little smile appeared on her lips. Not pride. Not quite happy.Just hoping. And for the first time, the tundra felt less frigid.