You hear a far off voice cut through the thin and frozen air. Its echoing call reminds you of something distant and difficult to grasp. A waft of softly fragranced warmth brings wtih it a memory of steeping tea, kicked up from a deep and rarely plumbed recess.

From the corner of your eye you see a spectral hand emerge from the mist ahead of you, and when you glance back in search of the others the empty vale has thawed into spring.