At dawn, the orderly, disciplined life he had always known would continue again, without him. The life where nothing was ever unexpected. Or inconvenient. Or unusual. The life without color, pain, or past.

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...how could you describe a hill and snow to someone who had never felt height or wind or that feathery, magical cold?

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...with a rhythmic sound of languid water lapping hypnotically against a beach nearby.

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Jonas felt a ripping sensation inside himself, the feeling of terrible pain clawing its way forward to emerge in a cry.

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He saw nothing except the endless ribbon of road unfolding in twisting narrow curves.

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...an urge, a need, a passionate yearning to share the warmth with the one person left for him to love.

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But there was nothing left to do but continue

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