They Threw the Accused Poisoner Barefoot Into a Blizzard, but the Widower Who Found Her Was Hiding the One Skill That Could Ruin Them All
“Stay awake,” he ordered.
“Why?”
“Because if you sleep, you die.”
“Dying may be easier.”
“Easier for whom? Constance Peyton?”
Something flickered behind Winona’s eyes.
“No.”
“Then talk.”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
She told him about Dr. Peyton.
He had discovered her years earlier treating a miner’s infected hand behind a company store. While everyone else avoided the smell and swelling, Winona had cleaned the wound with boiled water, drained the infection, and wrapped it in strips of clean cloth.
Dr. Peyton had watched her work.
He hired her that afternoon.
“He taught me Western medicine,” Winona said through chattering teeth. “My grandmother taught me plants and traditional healing. Dr. Peyton said the two kinds of knowledge did not have to be enemies.”
“Why did you not become a physician?”
She gave a faint, humorless laugh.
“What medical school would accept a woman like me?”
Elijah tightened his arms around her as the horse pushed through the snow.
“You knew the procedure for frostbite in the saloon,” he said. “I saw how you protected your hands when they forced you outside.”
“Dr. Peyton made me read everything he owned.”
“You were his student.”
“I was his assistant when no one was watching and his housekeeper when they were.”
They rode in silence for several minutes.
Then Winona asked, “What happened to your wife?”
Elijah almost refused to answer.
Perhaps the darkness made honesty easier.
“Martha died in childbirth. The baby, too.”
“I am sorry.”
“I was a surgeon. I had saved hundreds of men. I could not save either of them.”
“That does not mean you killed them.”
“It feels the same.”
“So you stopped practicing medicine.”
“I stopped almost everything.”
“What about the boy at your ranch?”
“Tommy tried to steal one of my chickens three weeks ago. His parents died in a mining camp. I told him to leave. He refused.”
“You took him in.”
“He took himself in.”
The ranch house emerged through the storm, a dark shape with firelight glowing behind its windows.
Tommy opened the door before Elijah reached the porch.
The boy had wild red hair, narrow shoulders, and eyes too old for his face.
“Mr. Mercer, who is she? Is she dead?”
“Not yet. Bring every blanket we own.”
Inside, Elijah placed Winona near the fire. Tommy piled quilts around her while Elijah examined her feet.
The skin was white and waxy, but it had not yet turned black.
“There is a chance,” he said.
Winona saw the old medical bag gathering dust in a corner.
“You still have your instruments.”
“I keep many things I no longer use.”
“Your hands remember.”
He glanced at her.
“Do not tell me what my hands remember.”
Tommy brought a basin of lukewarm water. Elijah tested it and slowly lowered Winona’s feet.
The pain arrived instantly.
Winona screamed.
Her body arched against the chair as circulation forced its way into frozen tissue. Tommy held her shoulders, frightened but steady.
“Breathe,” Elijah ordered.
His voice changed.
It became calm, precise, and certain—the voice of the surgeon he insisted no longer existed.
“The pain means blood is returning. Stay with me.”
Tears streamed down Winona’s face.
When the worst passed, Elijah lifted her feet from the water. Angry red color spread across the skin.
“You may keep every toe,” he said. “We will know more in the morning.”
Winona looked at him through her exhaustion.
“You are still a doctor.”
“No.”
“Your hands disagree.”
Outside, the storm raged for three days.
During that time, Winona learned the rhythms of Stone Creek Ranch.
She learned that Elijah rose before dawn, worked until dark, and carried grief as if it were another tool strapped to his body. He kept Martha’s photograph polished and her garden tools oiled, though the garden had been dead for years.
She learned that Tommy spoke constantly because silence frightened him. He slept with a knife under his pillow and lied about small things whenever he feared punishment.
She also learned that the ranch was failing.
The barn roof leaked. The loan was three months behind. Six cattle were sick with dull coats, labored breathing, and clouded eyes.
On the first clear morning, Winona insisted on examining them.
Elijah gave her Martha’s old boots. They were slightly small, but she laced them tightly and followed him through three feet of snow.
After studying the cattle, Winona asked to see the winter pasture.
Near the fence, she brushed snow from a dark green plant bearing clusters of shriveled berries.
“Water hemlock.”
Elijah went pale.
“I cleared this pasture in spring.”
“The roots spread underground. New shoots returned after you cleared the surface.”
He looked toward the barn.
“My cattle have been eating poison.”
“Small amounts. Enough to weaken them, not enough to kill them immediately.”
“Can you save them?”
“If we remove every root and treat them now.”
They worked until sunset.
Tommy helped dig through frozen ground. Winona prepared charcoal, milk thistle, and molasses to absorb the remaining toxin and protect the animals’ livers.
Within four days, the cattle began improving.
That evening Tommy watched Elijah clean a cut on a calf’s leg.
“Will you teach me medicine?” he asked.
Elijah’s hands stopped.
“I am not a doctor anymore.”
“You knew exactly what to do with Miss Winona.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
Elijah had no answer.
Tommy looked toward Winona for help.
She remained silent. Some doors could only be opened from the inside.
Finally, Elijah sighed.
“I will teach you the basics. You will follow every instruction. Medicine is not a game.”
Tommy’s face lit up.
“Yes, sir.”
He ran outside to tell the chickens.
Elijah watched him go.
“I used to believe I could save everyone,” he said.
“Perhaps no one can save everyone.”
“Then what is the point?”
“Sometimes one person is enough.”
Their eyes met in the dim barn.
Neither called the moment love. It was too early and too dangerous.
But it was the beginning of trust.
Two weeks after the blizzard, Sheriff Doyle returned to Stone Creek Ranch with Harrison Caldwell, president of the First Montana Bank.
Caldwell was in his early fifties, silver-haired and immaculately dressed. His polished boots looked absurd in the muddy yard.
Elijah met them on the porch with a rifle.
“You are not welcome here.”
Caldwell smiled.
“I came to discuss business.”
His eyes shifted to Winona, who stood in the barn doorway.
“So the famous Miss Blackwood survived. Missoula is telling quite a tale about the accused witch who bewitched a lonely widower.”
“State your business,” Elijah said.
Caldwell produced a folded document.
“Your loan is three months overdue. Under the agreement, the bank may demand the full balance. Eight hundred dollars within thirty days, or Stone Creek Ranch will be foreclosed.”
Elijah’s face hardened.
“I have never missed a payment before this winter.”
“Banks do not survive on memories of previous payments.”
Caldwell offered to purchase the ranch for three thousand dollars.
“The land is worth five times that,” Elijah said.
“Only if someone else wants it before the foreclosure.”
Winona watched Caldwell’s expression. He was too pleased. This was not a banker recovering a debt. This was a hunter closing a trap.
“Why do you want this property?” she asked.
Elijah glanced at her, but she continued.
“There are larger ranches closer to town. Why this one?”
Caldwell’s smile thinned.
“The railroad once considered building through this valley. It no longer does.”
“You are lying,” Winona said.
Sheriff Doyle moved his hand toward his pistol.
Elijah raised the rifle slightly.
Caldwell remained calm.
“Thirty days, Mr. Mercer.”
Before leaving, he added that Constance Peyton had obtained a warrant against Winona. A second examination of Dr. Peyton’s body had allegedly revealed arsenic.
Winona felt the cold of the blizzard return to her bones.
“That is impossible.”
“Courts decide what is possible,” Caldwell replied.
After the men rode away, Elijah stared across the snow-covered ranch.
“We should leave,” he said. “Take Tommy and go west.”
“And surrender the land?”
“Land is not worth your life.”
“Running will not clear my name.”
“It may keep you alive.”
Winona stepped closer.
“I have spent my life running from people who believed they could decide whether I deserved a place in the world. I will not do it again.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We find out why Caldwell wants this ranch badly enough to manufacture a murder.”
That night they sat at the kitchen table with Martha’s unused paper and ink.
Elijah explained that the proposed railroad route crossed the narrowest point of Stone Creek’s valley. Whoever controlled the ranch could demand payment for access to thousands of acres farther west.
Caldwell had spent years buying indebted properties. He owned the bank, several stores, and most of Sheriff Doyle’s loyalty.
“He thinks power makes him untouchable,” Winona said.
“He may be right.”
“No one is untouchable. Powerful men simply hide their weaknesses behind other people.”
Three days later, four armed riders appeared.
Their leader carried a warrant bearing a territorial judge’s name.
“We are taking the woman,” he called.
Elijah stood on the porch with his rifle.
“You are trespassing.”
“Send her out, and no one gets hurt.”
Winona stepped beside Elijah.
“What new evidence?”
The man claimed arsenic had been discovered in Dr. Peyton’s stomach months after burial.
“Someone fed it to him slowly,” he said. “The paper says you did it.”
“The paper lies.”
“Not my concern.”
The man glanced toward the house.
“You have a boy in there, Mercer. Orphans have accidents all the time.”
Elijah’s face went white.
Winona felt an anger older and colder than the storm rise within her.
“Touch that child,” she said, “and you will understand why frightened men invented stories about women like me.”
The rider laughed.
A rifle cracked from beside the barn.
One of the bounty hunters cried out and clutched his shoulder.
Tommy stood in the snow holding Elijah’s spare rifle.
His face was pale, but his aim remained steady.
“The next shot goes lower,” he called.
The leader studied the boy, then slowly lifted his hands.
“Perhaps today is not the day.”
They rode away carrying their wounded companion.
Winona ran to Tommy and pulled him into her arms.
“You disobeyed me.”
“I know.”
“You could have been killed.”
“I know.”
“You brave, foolish boy.”
His arms tightened around her.
“They threatened my family.”
The word silenced all three of them.
Family.
Elijah looked at Winona.
“I lost one family,” he said. “I will not lose another.”
Winona understood then that Stone Creek Ranch was no longer merely a hiding place.
It was home.
The next morning, she rode alone into Missoula.
Elijah argued until his voice became hoarse, but Winona insisted that three fugitives hiding on a ranch could not defeat Caldwell. They needed someone who could make the truth larger than the banker’s influence.
She entered the office of the Missoula Gazette wearing Martha’s old bonnet.
The editor, Nathaniel Whitmore, was a thin man with spectacles and ink-stained fingers.
His expression changed when she revealed her face.
“You should not be here. There is a warrant.”
“I know.”
She placed a copied survey on his desk.
The document showed Stone Creek Ranch and the proposed railroad corridor. It had been ordered by Harrison Caldwell six months before he claimed to have lost interest in the land.
Whitmore read the signature twice.
“Where did you get this?”
“The county records office. It was filed under an incorrect property name.”
“You broke into the records office?”
“The window was already poorly secured.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one you are receiving.”
Despite himself, Whitmore smiled.
Winona told him everything—the saloon, the banishment, the false arsenic report, the foreclosure, and the armed men sent to take her.
When she finished, Whitmore removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.
“Caldwell owns my printing debt. If I publish this, he can close the newspaper.”
“Then do not publish until you have proof.”
“Why should I risk anything for you?”
“Because if every decent person stays silent until cruelty reaches his own door, there will eventually be no decent people left. Only those doing the crushing and those waiting to be crushed.”
Whitmore studied her.
Then he reached for a clean sheet of paper.
“Tell me Dr. Peyton’s symptoms again.”
For the first time, Winona believed someone in Missoula wanted the truth.
She left the office an hour later and nearly reached her horse before Constance Peyton stepped onto the boardwalk.
The widow wore black silk, diamonds, and a smile sharpened by hatred.
“The witch returns.”
“I came for business.”
“You murdered my husband.”
“Your husband died of heart disease, and you know it.”
People began gathering.
Constance raised her voice.
“This woman poisoned a Christian doctor. Now she has bewitched Elijah Mercer and taken control of his ranch.”
The crowd murmured.
Winona recognized the dangerous energy spreading through them. A mob did not require evidence. It required permission.
Constance was giving it to them.
Winona mounted quickly.
“You will hang!” Constance shouted.
Winona looked down at her.
“You wanted me dead because I knew your husband’s death would make you rich. But fear has made you careless, Mrs. Peyton. Careless people eventually tell the truth without meaning to.”
For one instant, panic crossed Constance’s face.
Winona rode away before the crowd could surround her.
She reached Stone Creek Ranch after sunset.
Elijah was waiting on the porch.
“You are late.”
“Constance delayed me.”
His jaw tightened.
“You could have been killed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand what that would have done to Tommy?”
“To Tommy?”
“And to me.”
The words escaped him before he could stop them.
Winona looked at him.
Elijah turned away and took the reins from her hand.
“I will care for the horse.”
She touched his arm.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
“I am not certain it is trust.”
“What is it?”
He looked into her eyes.
“Something close.”
That night they sat together on the porch beneath a sky crowded with stars.
Elijah asked why she continued fighting.
Winona told him about the missionary orphanage. She told him how she had run away at fifteen, how they caught her, and how punishment left her unable to walk for a week.
“Another girl asked why I resisted when resistance only made the beatings worse,” Winona said. “I told her there was a fire inside me that refused to go out. I still do not know where it comes from.”
“Perhaps it brought you here.”
“Perhaps.”
After a silence, she asked, “Do you know why you followed me into the storm?”
Elijah looked across the dark valley.
“I saw something in you at the saloon. Something I remembered from before the war and before Martha died.”
“What?”
“Hope.”
Winona laughed softly.
“You found me nearly frozen to death.”
“And somehow you still looked as if the world had not beaten you.”
His hand found hers between them.
“You are the bravest person I have ever known.”
“Bravery and foolishness often share a border.”
“I have noticed.”
She did not pull her hand away.
The following morning, a wagon arrived carrying Judge Cornelius Ashby and a dying woman wrapped in blankets.
Elijah recognized her immediately.
“Adelaide Caldwell.”
Harrison Caldwell’s wife was pale, thin, and struggling for every breath.
Judge Ashby helped her from the wagon.
“We have evidence,” he announced. “Enough to save this ranch and clear Miss Blackwood’s name.”
Inside the house, Adelaide placed a bundle of ledgers and letters on the kitchen table.
“My husband keeps records because he trusts paper more than people,” she whispered. “These show fraudulent foreclosures, bribes, false deeds, and payments to Sheriff Doyle.”
She removed one final letter.
“This is from the physician who performed the second examination of Dr. Peyton’s remains. Harrison paid him to contaminate preserved tissue with arsenic.”
Winona stared at the page.
“The original examination showed natural death?”
“Yes. A failing heart.”
“And Constance?”
“She knew. Harrison paid her debts in exchange for supporting the murder accusation. He wanted you frightened, and he wanted Elijah disgraced after he protected you. The scandal made it easier to seize the ranch.”
Elijah’s hands curled into fists.
“Why are you giving us this?”
Adelaide looked toward Tommy.
“I heard Harrison’s men threatened a child.”
Her voice broke.
“I have watched my husband ruin families for eight years. I told myself I was too sick to resist him. The truth is that I was afraid.”
She pushed the papers toward Winona.
“I do not have much time left. Before I die, I want to choose who I am at least once.”
Judge Ashby had already sent copies of the evidence to federal prosecutors in Helena. They would arrive within days.
Adelaide collapsed before he finished explaining.
Winona caught her.
For the next three days, she remained beside the dying woman. She eased her breathing, cooled her fever, and held her hand through the nights.
“Will you stay until the end?” Adelaide asked.
“I promise.”
Adelaide died at dawn with Winona beside her.
They buried her on the hill near Martha’s grave.
Two women who had never met rested beneath the same Montana sky, each remembered not only for how she died, but for what her life had awakened in those who remained.
The federal prosecutors arrived the following morning.
They took statements, examined the ledgers, and declared the warrant against Winona invalid.
“You are a free woman,” the lead prosecutor told her.
Free.
The word felt too large to enter her heart all at once.
The men left for Missoula before sunset to arrest Caldwell, Doyle, and the corrupt physician.
Elijah watched their horses disappear.
“It is over.”
Winona shook her head.
“No. Caldwell has spent years planning for every possibility. He will not sit in his house waiting for chains.”
That night they loaded every rifle.
An hour after darkness fell, a bullet shattered the front window.
Tommy ran into the main room.
“How many?”
“At least six,” Elijah said.
Another shot tore through the wall.
Elijah gripped Tommy’s shoulders.
“Climb through the back window and run to the Henderson farm.”
“I am not leaving.”
“You are carrying the evidence of what happens here,” Winona told him. “If we die, you make sure the truth survives.”
Tears filled the boy’s eyes.
“You are my family.”
“That is why you must go.”
He hugged them both and disappeared into the darkness.
The next volley came from three directions.
Elijah fired from the broken window. A man fell near the corral.
Winona crouched beside the stove with a pistol.
The front door burst inward.
Gunmen rushed through smoke and splintered wood.
Elijah shot the first. Winona wounded the second. A third fired, and Elijah staggered as blood spread across his shirt.
“I am fine,” he gasped.
He was not.
More men entered through the windows.
The room dissolved into noise, gun smoke, overturned furniture, and flashes of steel.
Winona fired until her pistol clicked empty. Then she seized a knife.
A blow struck the back of her head.
She fell.
When her vision cleared, Harrison Caldwell stood over her.
His fine coat was torn. Blood streaked his face. The polished banker had vanished, leaving only a frightened man whose power was collapsing.
“You ruined everything,” he snarled.
“Your wife ruined you. I merely listened to her.”
He kicked Winona in the ribs.
“Adelaide was weak.”
“She was braver in her final week than you have been in your entire life.”
He struck her again.
“Where are the papers?”
“Already in federal hands.”
His rage became cold.
“Then I truly have nothing left to lose.”
He raised his pistol toward her head.
Winona closed her eyes.
Instead of a gunshot, she heard a heavy impact.
Caldwell collapsed beside her.
Elijah stood behind him holding his rifle by the barrel. Blood soaked his shirt.
“Never threaten my family,” he said.
Then his knees buckled.
Winona crawled toward him.
The bullet had entered his side. Blood pulsed between her fingers when she pressed the wound.
“Stay with me.”
“I am trying.”
“Do not try. Do it.”
He gave a weak smile.
“Still giving orders.”
Hoofbeats thundered into the yard.
Tommy had reached the Hendersons, who intercepted the federal officers returning from Missoula. Marshals poured into the ruined house and placed Caldwell in chains.
Winona barely noticed.
“I need hot water,” she ordered. “Clean cloth. Needle, thread, and my instruments.”
One marshal stared at her.
“Are you a doctor?”
Winona looked at Elijah’s fading face.
“I am the only one he has.”
She operated for three hours by lamplight.
The bullet had missed his liver by less than an inch. She removed it, tied the bleeding vessel, cleaned the wound, and stitched him closed with hands that never trembled.
Only when Elijah’s pulse strengthened did she allow herself to breathe.
Tommy sat beside the bed.
“Will he live?”
“If infection does not set in.”
“And if it does?”
Winona took Elijah’s hand.
“Then we fight that too.”
At sunrise, Judge Ashby entered the house.
Caldwell had confessed after learning his wife’s ledgers were already beyond his reach. Sheriff Doyle and Constance Peyton had both been named. Doyle was in custody. Constance had fled west before the arrests began.
The bank’s fraudulent claim against Stone Creek Ranch was canceled.
The territorial government issued a formal declaration clearing Winona of every accusation.
“You are a hero,” the judge told her.
“No. I refused to die. There is a difference.”
“Sometimes there is not.”
When they were alone, Winona sat beside Elijah’s bed.
His face was pale. His breathing remained shallow.
“You saved me twice,” she whispered. “That is becoming an inconvenient habit.”
His fingers moved faintly against hers.
“I need you to wake up because I have something to tell you.”
His eyes opened.
“You talk too much,” he rasped.
A sob became a laugh in her throat.
“I think I love you.”
“You think?”
“I love you, Elijah Mercer.”
His mouth curved weakly.
“Took you long enough.”
“You were unconscious.”
“I noticed.”
She pressed her forehead against his.
“I love you too,” he whispered. “In case being shot for you was unclear.”
Elijah’s recovery took six weeks.
He spent those weeks arguing that he was strong enough to work, attempting to stand before his wound healed, and discovering that Winona was more stubborn than he was.
Tommy handled the animals, hauled water, and continued his medical lessons at Elijah’s bedside.
A territorial school in Helena offered the boy a scholarship after Judge Ashby told officials about his courage and intelligence.
Tommy read the letter three times.
“I do not want to leave.”
“Why?” Winona asked.
His eyes lowered.
“The last time I left a home, everyone I loved died.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders.
“This home will remain here. You may travel a hundred miles or a thousand. You may become the finest doctor in the territory. You will still belong to us.”
“Promise?”
“Every day.”
Spring returned to the valley in April.
Snow retreated from the hills. The creek broke through its ice. Purple and yellow wildflowers appeared across the pastures.
One afternoon, Winona climbed to the two graves.
She stood first beside Adelaide’s marker.
“You chose well in the end,” she said.
Then she knelt near Martha’s headstone.
“I am not trying to replace you. He still loves you. I believe he always will.”
Wind moved gently through the grass.
“But I love him too. I hope there is room for both truths.”
When Winona returned to the house, Elijah was sitting upright without assistance.
“I saw you on the hill,” he said.
“Does it trouble you?”
“No.”
“She was your wife.”
“She was. And you are the woman I love now. Loving you does not erase her. Remembering her does not diminish you.”
He took Winona’s hand.
“When I can stand properly, I intend to ask you a question.”
“You may ask it now.”
“No. I will do it on my feet with a ring.”
Her heart began to pound.
“You are terrible at surprises.”
“I was once better.”
She kissed him before he could say more.
In May, Elijah led her to the top of the hill overlooking Stone Creek Ranch.
He wore his best coat and carried a small velvet box.
“I prepared a speech,” he admitted. “I have forgotten all of it.”
“That is unfortunate. I expected poetry.”
“You have seen my account books. You know I am not a poet.”
He lowered himself carefully to one knee and opened the box.
Inside lay a simple gold ring that had belonged to his grandmother.
“Winona Blackwood, when I imagine this ranch restored, you are beside me. When I imagine Tommy returning as a physician, you are waiting with me. When I imagine growing old, yours is the face I see.”
He took her hand.
“You entered my life on the worst night of yours and woke everything in me I thought had died. Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
She answered before he could finish breathing.
They married beside the creek on the first day of summer.
Judge Ashby performed the ceremony. Whitmore attended and later printed an account that described Winona not as an accused poisoner, but as the healer who exposed Montana’s most corrupt banker.
Tommy served as best man.
When Elijah kissed his bride, the boy threw his hat into the air and shouted loud enough to frighten the horses.
Three years later, Stone Creek Ranch had become more than a cattle property.
Elijah and Winona built a small clinic near the house. They treated ranchers, miners, mothers, children, and travelers. Some paid with money. Others brought eggs, firewood, or nothing at all.
No one was turned away.
Winona planted a medicinal garden combining the knowledge Dr. Peyton had taught her with the traditions passed down by her Salish grandmother. Elijah began practicing medicine openly again.
Tommy returned each summer from school, taller and more confident but still unable to cook beans properly.
In the spring of their second year of marriage, Winona gave birth to a daughter.
They named her Adelaide.
One September evening, Winona sat on the porch watching Tommy help the little girl cross the yard. Adelaide took three uncertain steps, released his fingers, and fell laughing into the grass.
Elijah sat beside his wife.
“What are you thinking?”
“That life is strange.”
“Only strange?”
“Cruel. Beautiful. Wasteful. Generous. Sometimes all in the same day.”
He slipped his arm around her.
Winona rested her head against his shoulder.
“Do you ever regret riding after me that night?”
“Never.”
“You did not know me.”
“I knew enough.”
“What did you know?”
“That forty people were willing to watch you die, and one person had to decide not to.”
Across the yard, Adelaide took another step. Tommy caught her before she fell.
Winona looked at the ranch, the clinic, the garden, and the two graves on the hill.
She had once believed healing meant erasing pain.
Now she understood that some wounds never vanished. They became scars, and scars became part of the map that led a person home.
“They threw me into the storm because they believed no one would come,” she said.
Elijah kissed her temple.
“They were wrong.”
The sun lowered behind the Montana mountains, turning the valley gold.
Tommy carried Adelaide toward the house while she rested her sleepy head against his shoulder. The clinic lamp glowed in the window. Cattle moved quietly in the pasture where the poisonous roots had once grown.
Winona listened to Elijah’s heartbeat.
Steady.
Strong.
Alive.
She had entered a blizzard expecting to die.
Instead, she had found a widower who remembered how to heal, an orphan who taught them both how to become a family, and a home built not from perfect lives, but from broken people who kept choosing one another.
That, Winona knew, was the truest kind of miracle.
Not magic.
Not destiny.
Only courage refusing to surrender.
Only hope surviving the cold.
Only love finding its way home.
THE END.
