Love waits patiently. Hate lingers in the cold.

The way home takes Ignatz through thigh-deep snow, but he doesn't hesitate. Aunt Ruth would be waiting. She was always waiting with her bitter comments and scathing glares. He would have preferred to go in the other direction, back to town and then onwards to freedom, but he'd made a promise and Ignatz would keep it no matter what.

Except night will bring death with it and Ignatz is too far away to reach Aunt Ruth in time. There is, however, the old apple tree outside the ruined temple, sitting in its hole in the snow.

Shelter is shelter.

Except when it's something else entirely.