Disclaimer: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth, not me.
From Cinders Comes Fire - Prologue
The child's biggest mistake in life was being born a girl. Years later she heard that when the midwife had first presented her to her father, he had cursed at the top of his lungs and broken a chair against the wall. He had wanted a son, who he could train to hunt and pass his trade on to. What the hell was he supposed to do with a daughter?
For the first eight years of her life he had ignored her. Since he worked all day and drank all night, she only ever saw him when the family went to church or were sat around the dinner table. At those times he would never even deign her a glance, let alone speak to her. Why should he? In his eyes she was nothing more than an unwanted extra mouth to feed.
Since Father wasn't interested, it was left to Mother to raise her. She was a kind and caring woman, but her heath was frail. Physical work was always a challenge for her due to her weak constitution, but she kept trying nonetheless.
That the child took closely after her mother was very clear to see, being almost an exact copy of the woman with only a few differences. She had the same ebony-black hair and ivory skin, though her hair was slightly more wavy instead of completely straight, and the eyes she had inherited from Father marked the only other difference. Her mother's eyes were calm and beautiful as the sea, and always seemed to light up with joy when her daughter was near. She enjoyed cooking and and singing to her child, and never seemed to lose hope that the girl would one day win her father over.
There was no question though that her inconvenient gender had placed a strain on her parent's relationship. Father resented Mother for not bearing him a son ('as a dutiful wife would have') but she refused to resent her daughter in turn. Instead she was always on the lookout for ways to help her daughter grow strong. To find ways that would help prove to Father that she wasn't as useless as he believed, even if it lead to arguments or caused her health to take a downward swing. The girl did her best to follow the example Mother set for her, but there were just so many things to learn and remember. No matter how hard she tried to follow them all she always seemed to come up short, and again Father would ignore her. All the girl could do in such instances was bow her head, shuffle her feet and mumble apologies for being such a useless little girl.
Mother kept a watchful eye on her throughout her childhood. The fall and especially the winter months in Anima were always cold, the land struck not just by the cold winds from the snowy north, but also the heavy mists from the massive sea at the centre of the continent. Supplies in those months were limited, but she always made sure her daughter was warm and fed. As her health continued to decline, she taught her daughter how to perform the tasks her weakened state could not.
As the child grew older, the number of tasks she took over from Mother gradually grew larger. Before long, her days mostly consisted of peeling vegetables, washing clothes and cleaning the same rooms she had cleaned yesterday and the day before. It really didn't matter what she was doing so long as she was doing something. Idleness was a sin, so she was given jobs even if they didn't need to be done. The girl never once complained. The times together with her mother were always calm and soothing, and the challenges never bothered her so long as her mother was there with her.
The only time the girl was ever truly alone was when she was sent off to the store with a list of goods to buy. Though the air around her was frigid at best, it was always wonderful to be outside by herself. Suddenly she was free to be a child and act her age, able to laugh and run around for a time without a care in the world. She took as much time as she dared with those trips, playing silly little games such as kicking a stone along in front of her or balancing herself on top of a fence and pretending that the street was a rushing river that would drown her if she fell into it.
Not only did shopping trips give her an hour of precious freedom just to herself, but they also gave her a chance to check out another book from the library. It was the one suggestion and encouragement from Mother that she enjoyed most. She had been hesitant at first, unsure what exactly she would hope to find inside the old and unfamiliar pages. Yet the girl soon found herself lost within stories telling of far away lands, of Huntsmen and Huntresses who battled evil and saved the world from darkness. So much pleasure was to be found in them that she continued to read them well beyond a simple chapter or two like had originally intended, and she even went so far as to smuggle novels into the house underneath the groceries in her basket. If she was to be forever trapped in the same routine at home, then at least her mind would be free to wander the worlds and adventures within the pages, conjured to life by her own vivid imagination, or by her mother's soothing voice.
She realized at a young age that she was only ever happy when she was alone or with her mother. Other people just made her angry or miserable. The townsfolk would turn their heads away from her in disgust when she passed them in the street. Other children would point at her, then whisper and giggle together in their little groups. But she hated her father most of all, even though she knew it was evil of her to think that. She longed to be away from the constant silent loathing of Father, to have him acknowledge her as his daughter. Often when she was stuck sweeping or preparing food she would daydream and imagine that he would ruffle her hair and offer praise when he saw her hard at work.
For most of her childhood, her days consisted of nothing but chores and prayer. But then one morning soon after her tenth birthday, something unexpected had happened. Just as Father had been leaving to hunt, Mother had shoved her in his direction. "Take her with you," she had said. "She could be a great help on your hunt if you just give her the chance."
Father had grimaced, not keen on the idea. Nevertheless he jerked his head to indicate that the girl should follow him. He took her to his weapons cabinet, selected a small bow and placed it in her hands. "If you're coming along you might as well be useful," he grunted.
From the moment she had taken it from him, the girl had been fascinated with the weapon. It felt so imposing and dangerous to hold. She had run her palm along its smooth wooden surface and hooked her finger around the cold and tightly wound string. This was a tool that could kill. Never before had she held such power in her hands.
He had taken her out to the forest. His strides were long at first and the girl struggled to keep up with him. When they reached the tree-line he had slowed down and told her to tread softly. As they crept through the undergrowth together she felt like a daring adventurer, like the Huntsmen and Huntresses she had read about in books. Every so often Father held up his hand to stop her. Then he would take aim at something and fire off at a target she could not see. The girl watched him intently, observing the stance and the way he held his left arm steady, legs straight and unmoving as the sturdy trees that surrounded them. His eyes were sharp and focused, never deviating from the target of his next arrow.
For most of the morning she had just followed him around, lugging the sack containing the two grouse he had killed so far. After he had shot a third, she meekly asked if she could have a go herself. He squinted with annoyance, but nodded, pointed at a tree and told her to take some practice shots. She had eagerly held up the bow, trying to mimic the stance she had seen him take whenever he was readying to fire. When she released the string the first time, the twang of the bow exhilarated her even though she had missed the tree completely.
At Father's instruction she continued to take practice shots. He grunted comments on how she should improve her aim and snapped at her when she let her posture slip. When she could finally hit the tree with confidence, he started to walk away, muttering that it was time she tried shooting at some living targets. She scurried after him, eager to prove herself.
On that first hunt she hadn't killed anything. Every target that Father had picked out for her was either too quick, too small or too far away, making the shots too difficult for someone with as little experience as herself. Nevertheless, she had begged to tag along again. The bow had seduced her and the thought of going back to dusting the mantelpiece and mopping the floors was now too dreary to contemplate. To her delight Father had agreed, but told her that unless she killed something it would be the last time he took her hunting.
That day, she finally scored her first kill. It was a stray doe, wandering vacantly through the trees without a care in the world. When the arrow tore into its side, the girl had gasped, startled that one of her arrows had actually managed to hit its target. The wounded animal groaned and collapsed. As they approached it, it made a feeble attempt to crawl away, but it was lung-shot and dying even as it struggled. The girl was surprised, and somewhat horrified, that the simple release of her fingers was all it had taken to reduce this creature to something so pitiful.
"Go on. Finish it," Father had grunted impatiently.
His urging cut through her hesitance. She knocked another arrow to the string, took aim and put a second shot into its torso. The doe keeled over, dead. The youth in her was aghast that she had taken the life of a living creature, yet Father's approving nod swept away any reservations she had. It was the closest he had ever come to praising her.
"I got it!" she exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement.
"Course you did. It was a good shot," he replied simply, before turning and walking onwards to continue the hunt.
From then on she had hunted with him every day. Mother had never been so proud of her, the image of her smile forever in the girl's mind when they left for or returned from the latest hunt. The girl in turn had never been so happy and full of life. For the first time in forever Father was looking at her with pride, perhaps seeing something of the son he had always wanted in her. But even better than his approval was the way she felt about herself now. Her constant failures before had always gnawed away at her confidence, to the point her mother's efforts had not always been successful in reassuring her she was not useless. Now that she was hunting and putting meat on the table, she felt like she was finally pulling her weight as a useful member of the family. Finally she could take pride in the fact she was strong and capable, something her mother had always known about her.
After she had proven herself a capable shot, Father had allowed her to hunt alone, figuring they would cover more ground if they split up. For the first time the girl knew the thrill of a true hunter. The success or failure of the hunt depended entirely on the choices she made and the shots she took. How she hunted was up to her. Should she move through the forest or stake out an animal run? Follow the stream downhill, or head upslope where the mountain goats roamed? Fire on sight, or creep closer to get a better shot? The seemingly endless possibilities made her giddy. Never before had she enjoyed so much freedom over her actions. If she made the right choices and shot well, she would bring home meat and Father would smile proudly at her (and, on one wonderful occasion, had even ruffled her hair just like she always wanted). If she didn't, she would come home empty-handed and Father would cuff her round the head, scowling in furious disappointment. But those blows never hurt as much as his silent loathing had, for the girl knew that they only came because she deserved them. She had a responsibility to fulfil and if she failed, it was only right that she be punished.
She found that unsuccessful hunts bothered her even more than they did Father, and she did her utmost to learn from them. When she had gone to bed for the night she would lie awake and analyze each hunt and the mistakes she had made. Perhaps she had chosen the wrong shots, or made too much noise, or had simply been hunting in the wrong place. She made mental notes and remembered them for next time. She soon realized that many of her failures were simply down to the fact that she hadn't shot well enough and so began to practise out back, lining up empty tin cans on the fence to serve as targets. She also borrowed every nature book she could get her hands on, sometimes even ordering them in especially from the larger library in the next town. They contained a wealth of knowledge about the plants and wildlife of the forest which she was able to incorporate into her hunts.
For a few seasons this continued. Over time her skills improved dramatically, through a combination of experience, Father's training and the stubbornness to never give up no matter what that she had inherited from her mother. Eventually Father stopped going for dusk hunts at all, delegating the task to her instead. Why should he spend his evenings crawling through bushes, when he could spend them in the pub, safe in the knowledge that his daughter would do a fine job in his place? Besides, word of his daughter's talent had spread throughout the village and the pub was a fine place to soak up the glory. 'How great must I be, if even my daughter is a better hunter than the rest of the men in the village,' his sneer seemed to say. As for said daughter, she was utterly addicted to the thrill of the hunt, and her father's newfound pride in her was the icing on the cake. Never before in her life had she been so happy.
But then once again, something unexpected happened. By the time she was thirteen she had surpassed her father.
It crept up on them so slowly that she barely noticed it herself, but as time went on, more and more of the carcasses that they brought home came from her arrows. If they hunted together she always seemed to spot targets before him and had often dropped them in a single shot before he had even seen them. Rumours spread in town that Father, who had once been so eager to brag about her skill before, had become irritable and silent, now that she had potentially usurped him as the best hunter in the village.
Then one day, as they were heading into town to sell the spoils of their latest hunt, they arrived just in time to encounter an Ursa Major. Grimm were always a danger to consider, both during hunts or for villages that chose to live far away from the major cities. But such beasts had never attacked the village itself before; they hadn't even been sighted in years. The villagers as a result were caught off guard by such a massive threat appearing so suddenly, many left unprepared to defend themselves and fleeing just at the sight of it. Father, refusing to be intimidated, raised his bow the moment he had a clear shot and loosed an arrow at the creature's back. His arrow bounced off the bony flank, and seemed only to draw the attention of the massive Ursa. He fired off two more arrows as the Grimm charged him, but neither succeeded in doing any damage to their target. There was not enough time to nock a fourth arrow, and before Father could roll out of the way, the Ursa had him pinned, roaring in his face, promising death. Before the girl knew what she was doing, she had her own bow out and trained on the beast. It rose onto its hind legs, the front paws preparing to crush her father, but she was focused and waited for it to settle in place. Then, at the exact moment it opened its mouth to roar a second time before the kill, she saw the shot and instantly released the arrow.
Her aim was true, the arrow entering through the Ursa's mouth, jamming itself in the creatures throat and sticking out the back of its neck. A perfect kill shot.
When the Ursa Major staggered backward, feebly clawing at its throat before collapsing backward, she couldn't believe her eyes. She had hit it! She had saved her father! Yelping in delight, she ran over to its twitching carcass and made sure it was dead with a second arrow through its skull. She looked back to Father, expecting him to praise her for such an excellent shot, or to thank her for saving his life and the village. To her surprise there was nothing but fury in his face. He bared his teeth, then quickly got back to his feet, his back to her, and stormed away. Only later did the girl realize the change that had taken place in his mind. Suddenly, rather than a helpful hunting partner, she had become a threat to his manhood.
The final straw came that evening in the pub. Talk of his daughter slaying the Ursa Major was the main subject on everyone's mind that night, as was the debate on her potential of becoming a Huntress. One of the locals, who had seen the rescue earlier, had joked that he and his daughter should swap roles – that she should be the man of the family, and he should doll himself up and find a nice man to marry. Father had broken a bottle over the man's head and spent the next week in a cell as a result.
When he came home after being released, he had locked away her bow and told her she would never hunt again. And she could forget any dreams of becoming a Huntress; he would make sure nothing would ever come from pursuing that so long as she lived under his roof.
Naturally the girl had protested. She knew the spoils of her hunts had brought plenty more money into the household – the new, heavily customized Huntsman's bow she surprised him with on his last birthday (capable of separating into two blades if one so desired, like one of the Huntresses from the books she had read), as well as Mother's expensive new dress were both proof enough of that. But more than money, she had found an identity through hunting. To have that taken from her just because she had become a better shot than her father seemed totally unreasonable.
Her protests were met with nothing, but a slap across the face that was hard enough to draw blood. Then he had the gall to tell her to not mistake her place in life, that she would never be worth anything to him, and demanded that she pray for forgiveness for having dared to defy him.
She hadn't apologized, but instead worked herself into a cold fury. She had tolerated years under her father's rule, silently bearing his loathing, his scorn. But for him to take away the one thing that had mattered to her, just to soothe his wounded ego, was something she could not accept.
She expressed her resentment through her chores. When she was sweeping the floor she would leave piles of dust in the corners next to Father's chair, and when she was washing up she was so careless with cleaning his things that more than once they had slipped out of her hand and broke. Before she would have been afraid to do anything less than a perfect job, but the bow had given her the confidence to defy her father, no matter the punishments that he doled out for her shoddy work. The harder he tried to tighten his grip on her, the harder she resisted.
However, as the summer heat faded into fall and the approaching winter started to announce itself earlier than expected, neither side noticed how Mother had become pale and withdrawn. Nor did they notice how her condition continued to deteriorate as days went by, try as she might to hide it.
As more time passed it quickly became apparent that the upcoming winter was different than others that came before. Not only was it approaching Anima much sooner than normal, it also carried with it an almost sinister fury, unmatched by any previous storm. Freezing winds and merciless snowfall struck with the intensity of an avalanche almost daily, each powerful gust draining what little heat came from the sun. Crop fields were crushed, animals froze to death in their insufficient shelters, and transporting goods became an impossibility in the nightmarish conditions. The villages were no strangers to struggle and hardship during winter, but this onslaught was unprecedented. Many were starting to believe this to be the coldest, most brutal winter since before the Great War, and yet it continued to grow colder still. Before long, even the largest cities appeared to be deserted ghost towns, no human or faunus daring to face the winter's chill.
And it was before this unnatural freezing reached its peak that the girl's mother, with her already frail health compounded by the stress of her daughter and husband's constant fighting, finally lost her battle. She simply collapsed from too much strain, the shattering of glass enough to stop the fighting that her words could not. They both turned to find her in a heap, her body burning hot with fever.
The conditions outside made it impossible to get a healer, leaving the girl to try and tend to Mother all on her own. Father couldn't be bothered to care it seemed, not that she was focused on him. Her only concern was Mother, and trying to some way help her through the fever. She tried everything she could think of, even neglecting her own health just to keep a close eye on her mother. Desperation and guilt filled her in equal measure, either begging her mother to recover or apologizing profusely, believing she was to blame for Mother's current condition. Her mother would simply smile a small weak smile, one hand cupping her daughter's cheek in reassurance, wiping the tears from her face.
"Never blame yourself for things beyond your control, my child," she said once, even as it hurt to speak beyond a ragged rasp, "No matter what happens, you must always remain strong. Only when you let yourself give up are you truly beaten."
Later that same night, well after the girl had succumbed to exhaustion, her mother passed away, her hand still holding her daughter's own.
The weeks following Mother's death were the hardest of her life. The first day, she had cried and cried until she was completely dry of tears. After that she was quiet, hardly eating and speaking even less. She did her chores mechanically, simply going through the motions because it was all she could do. Not even Father's wrath at her poor work was enough to affect her grief-stricken state, to the point he soon stopped trying.
Or at least that's what she had thought. In truth the girl was so grief-stricken that she failed to notice another change in Father. One much darker than anyone could have imagined.
Then one day, her father surprised her with an offer of "starting over". The storms were still terrible, but had abated enough that a temporary window had open for the village to try and reorganize and recover from all the storms and snowfall. For the two of them, that meant trying to gather meat to restock the villages badly depleted reserves. The girl was stunned at Father's unexpected change of heart, the arguments still fresh in her mind, but was quick to follow after him to regain a part of her identity.
The snow covered woods were much more treacherous than she had expected, not helped by the rust she had accumulated after months of inactivity, but she forced her way forward all the same. Shivering in the cold, she did her best to battle the freezing temperatures as the hours ticked by. The hunt was largely unsuccessful, with only a few small kills between the both of them as the dark of night started to blanket the land. Still it had felt good to be out hunting again, even if her senses were not as sharp as usual.
On the way back her attention to her footing was distracted for a moment, briefly focusing on moving her hunting bag from one shoulder to the other, when she slipped. Before she even realized what was happening, the world tilted and she lost all sense of what was up or down. Pain cracked against the side of her head and she did not even feel herself falling. After what felt like an eternity of everything around her spinning and her body plowing through snow, wood and rock, she finally came to a crashing halt in a heap at the bottom of a steep incline. Or was it a ravine? In her jumbled state of mind, she couldn't tell, only that it had hurt.
How to get up again? She knew the earth was down, but her balance still seemed to spin, and when she braced her hands against the ground, she did not know which direction to push. It was only now she felt something warm and sticky beginning to run down her side and back, but she couldn't make out what it was. Was she bleeding?
Twisting her body to check proved to be too taxing, however, and she realized with a sickening lurch that she could not get up. Efforts to do so resulted in a spike of pain up her back and one of her legs, and she crumpled against the tree she found next to her. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong…
Fighting to keep the panic out of her voice, the girl called out for her father to help her. When no reply to her shout came, she forced herself onto her back to try and look up to the top of the ravine even as her body screamed in protest. She saw him at the top of the ravine she had fallen from, barely making out his shape among the trees and snow so far up above. She tried to call out to him again, louder this time, voice trembling ever so slightly with equal parts fear and pain. She saw how he met her eye, face chiselled from stone for all the emotion it showed.
Then, without so much as a backward glance, he picked up the bow she had dropped at the start of her fall and moved to make his way back home without her.
Too late did the girl realize that Father had never meant to start over with her. He had been planning on starting over completely, removing any unnecessary burdens in his life. To him, she was nothing more than proof of a failed marriage. Now injured and trapped at the bottom of a ravine, there was no need to do the job himself. The elements would see to that for him, as the signs of another storm slowly made their way over the horizon.
For a time, she tried to call him back, crying and begging in terror now that she was truly lost and alone. As the howling winds drowned out her calls for help, she desperately tried to move and find some form of shelter. Half crawling, half dragging her injured body forward, the girl somehow managed to find a cave that would protect her from the freezing winds and snow… but not the cold. As her body shivered, limbs growing numb and movements more lethargic by the minute, she knew she had little time left.
Fire. She needed a fire.
There was enough twigs within the cave for kindling, but she lacked the means to ignite them. With the weather and her condition as they were, simply rubbing the wooden pieces together wasn't an option. Hugging herself, she silently prayed for something… anything… to help her. If she couldn't make a fire soon, she would surely freeze to death during the night...
It was in that moment of desperation that the girl felt it for the first time. Even years later, words would never be enough to describe what it was she felt that night. She was completely terrified of the darkness and cold surrounding her battered body, when something responded to prayers. It was… a sensation… a muted essence in the back of her mind that beckoned her forward. It commanded her to obey and perform the impossible. Operating more on instinct than conscious thought, the girl's hand reached out, palm facing the kindling in front of her. The essence in her mind commanded her, directing her mind, body and soul towards a single purpose.
Her eyes began to glow a deeper golden hue, illuminating the darkness around her…
Using both hands now, the girl again tried to reach out towards the mysterious sensation, willing her body to respond to its commands. She tightened her clenched teeth even tighter, refusing to let them chatter about her skull and distract her. Whatever this was, it needed her full attention. With each failed attempt, panic gripped her tighter, but she refused to let it show. Just a little more…
Without realizing it, the pain from her injuries was fading, as if something was healing them…
She refused to remain a scared little girl, abandoned and forgotten. She refused to let her father cast her aside like a broken tool, not when she still had fight left in her. And she refused to let herself succumb to the merciless winter elements surrounding her like her mother had. This was not where she would die. This was where she would prove herself stronger than she ever realized.
Finally there was a rush of… something. Warmth… energy… power surged deep from within her core, spreading throughout her body and obliterating the cold and lingering pain in an instant. Before she even had time to register it fully, the energy plowed its way straight through her arms and into the centre of her palms before —
With what could only be described as an explosion as loud and chaotic as a thunderclap, the kindling abruptly exploded into a ball of fire before her eyes, knocking the girl back slightly with a startled cry. Her palms were red and raw as if singed, but there was no pain. Only warmth. The girl looked down at her hands as she recovered, watching them tremble in her astonishment. The pain of her injuries had faded… and in its place she could feel it now, slowly burning under her skin and rushing through her blood. A yearning to be unleashed, and in her mind, a song of such power and beauty that it seemed not at all unlikely that the stone itself would move in response to such a call.
And yet it didn't frighten her. On the contrary, these new abilities comforted her. In her darkest hour this gift of fire had awakened and come to her aid, healing her of her injuries and giving her something truly amazing. Like a part of her she didn't know existed had suddenly flared into being. If she could just decipher how to use it fully, it would protect the girl from anything, even from the coldest winter of her life. With a smile she obeyed its desires, eager to see just what she could do now as they worked together as one.
As she weaved and experimented with her new gift, she suddenly realized something. Much like how her father no longer wanted her, she didn't need her father either. She had already proven that she was perfectly capable of hunting for herself, and with her newfound gift of fire, she need not fear the winter's wrath. Given enough time and effort, she could make a name for herself, start over just like her father planned to without her. Perhaps even become the Huntress Father vowed she would never become while he lived. What better way to spite the man that had left her to die?
Like Mother said, it was only if she let herself give up would she truly be beaten. And the girl had no intentions of surrendering just yet.
And so, summoning up all her courage, she prepared to return to her old home one last time. Under cover of darkness and snow, she used her fire to melt the lock and quietly made her way back inside, gathering what provisions she could stuff into her hunting bag and taking all the money from Father's wallet - to her good luck, more than enough Lien to get what she needed in the next town. Finally, she made her way over to Father's weapon cabinet to retrieve her precious bow. She had taken it down with trembling hands and gently embraced it like a long lost friend.
Once it was again secured in place upon her back, she also took the Huntsman's bow as well, reasoning it was a better weapon for a future Huntress. She had earned it with her own spoils from hunting, and Father had several other bows he could choose from. No need to tarnish one more weapon with his filthy hands.
The joy of her escape was short-lived. Within the space of two hours, the cold winds had forced her into taking shelter, her new abilities not yet enough for her to travel through the storms unscathed. As she went about making a fire to keep herself warm as she slept, she considered her options on where to go and how she would make it through the winter alone. Becoming a Huntress was her current long term goal, but for now she would have to start anew.
She flexed her fingers, opening and closing her palm, watching small flicks of orange light dance on the surface of her hand. She pointed her hand at the small fire, pulling the licks of flame lining the burning wood in front of her to her hands, pouring them together into a sphere between her fingers.
The last thing she wanted was for her fa... for someone from her past to find her so soon after gaining her freedom. Among other things, starting anew meant she would have to change her name as well, if only to further distance herself from the life she had before.
But change it to what? A name of a Huntress from her old books? Borrow something from a place no longer her own? Neither of those options sounded right to her.
A myriad of names danced within her mind, almost perfectly in sync with the flames that danced about her palm and fingers she controlled at will. She could create fire, without the aid of kindling or through manipulation of Dust. What she had was a gift. A power that she alone was worthy of possessing.
From the cinders of her former self, this new start would ignite a fire that would never be quenched. A fire that was hers and hers alone to control. With a smile touching the edges of her lips, she released the flames from her hand, letting the fire return to the wood in front of her. She new exactly what to call herself now.
That night, the girl went to sleep for the final time. Her part in the story was over. When the sun rose into the sky the following morning, so too did Cinder Fall to take her place, standing tall among the ashes and fallen snow.