There are mirrors that tell the truth, mirrors that lie, and then there was the mirror made by the greatest goblin of them all.
He was one of the worst kind of goblins, the devil himself, some said, and he was terribly pleased with his invention.
This mirror had a peculiar malicious power. Everything good and beautiful reflected in it, shriveled up to almost nothing.
While everything worthless and ugly stood out and became even worse than it was.
The loveliest landscapes looked like boiled spinach in this glass, and the kindest people looked like monsters standing on their heads.
If a good thought passed through a person's mind, the mirror showed a grin, and the goblin laughed at his cleverness.
He and his pupils went everywhere with this mirror, showing it to everyone, until there wasn't a country or a person left that had not been distorted by it.
Finally, the goblins decided they wanted to fly up to heaven itself. They wanted to hold the mirror up to the angels and mock the light of the sun.
The higher they flew, the more the mirror grinned and shook with wicked laughter. It shook so hard that they could scarcely hold it.
They flew higher and higher, closer to the stars, until the mirror trembled so violently that it slipped from their hands and fell down, down, down to the earth, where it broke into hundreds of millions, billions of pieces.
And that was much worse than before.
For the pieces were, some of them, smaller than a single grain of sand.
They flew about in the air, and if a tiny splinter of this glass got into a person's eye, it stayed there.
From that moment on, that person saw everything distorted, seeing only the flaws, the mistakes, and the ugliness in the world, because every little fragment kept the power of the whole mirror.
Even worse, some of these splinters were large enough to be made into window panes, through which one could no longer see friends clearly.
And some pieces were made into spectacles, and when people put them on to see better and judge fairly, everything went wrong.
A few splinters were so sharp that they found their way deep into people's chests, directly into their hearts.
And when that happened, the heart became like a lump of ice, cold, heavy, and unfeeling.
In Denmark, a beautiful land of low hills, ancient beach forests and cold gray seas, they tell a story about this mirror.
It is a story that has been told in many ways over the last 200 years, but its heart remains as true as a wooden floor under your feet.
In a large, crowded town in this northern land, there lived two children who were not brother and sister, but who loved each other just as much.
Their names were Kai and Gerda.
Their parents lived in two attic rooms that faced each other across the narrow gutter of the roof.
Where the two roofs came close together, there was a wooden window box on each side, filled with kitchen herbs and beautiful blooming roses.
In the summer, the children could step out of their windows onto the roof, sit on their little wooden stools under the roses, and play together for hours.
In the winter, when the snow fell and the window panes were covered in frost, they could not do this.
They had to warm copper coins on the stove and press them against the frozen glass to make round, clear peepholes.
Through these holes, Kai would look from his side and Gerda from hers, waving across the white falling snow.
Those are the white bees swarming, Kai's old grandmother told them one winter evening as they sat by the warm stove.
Do they have a queen bee too? asked Kai, for he knew that real bees always had one.
Yes, they do, said the grandmother. She flies where the swarm is thickest. She is the largest of them all, and she never stays still on the earth. She always flies back up into the black cloud.
Many a winter night, she flies through the streets of the town and peeps in at the windows, and then they freeze into strange patterns like flowers.
Yes, I have seen that, said Gerda, and she knew it was true.
Can the snow queen come in here? asked the little girl, shivering slightly.
Just let her come, said Kai, puffing out his chest. I'll set her on the warm stove and she'll melt into a puddle of water.
But that summer, when the roses were in full bloom and the children were sitting in their rooftop garden looking at a picture book, the church clock struck five.
Ow! cried Kai suddenly. Something pricked my heart, and now something has flown into my eye.
Gerda put her arm around his neck and looked into his eye, but she could see nothing.
Is it gone? she asked.
I think so, said Kai, but his voice was different. It was sharp and cold.
It was not gone. It was one of those tiny splinters of the goblin mirror, smaller than a grain of sand.
And another piece had gone straight into his heart.
Immediately, Kai looked at the roses and sneered.
Why are you crying, Gerda? You look so silly. And look at those roses. They are ugly. They have worms in them, and the boxes they grow in are crooked and old.
He kicked the box with his foot and pulled two of the most beautiful roses from their stems, tossing them onto the roof.
Kai, what are you doing? cried Gerda in terror.
But Kai only laughed, a cold, dry laugh, and ran into his own room.
From that day on, everything was changed. When Gerda brought out their favorite picture book, Kai said it was only fit for babies.
When his grandmother told her stories by the fire, Kai would stand behind her chair, put on her spectacles and mimic her voice and her walk so perfectly that everyone laughed, though it was not a kind laughter.
He began to mimic everyone in the street, showing how they limped or how they held their heads or how they spoke.
The things he used to love now seemed stupid to him.
One winter afternoon, when the snow was falling, he brought out a large magnifying glass and held it over his blue coat.
Look through the glass, Gerda, he said.
Each flake of snow looked much larger, like a magnificent star or a ten-sided flower.
See how clever they are? said Kai. They are much more interesting than real flowers. There isn't a single flaw in them. They are absolutely perfect, as long as they do not melt.
Not long after, winter arrived in earnest, and the cold winds blew from the sea.
Kai went down into the great square of the town where the other boys played. He wore his thick gloves and carried his little blue sled on his back.
In the square, the boldest boys would often tie their sleds to the backs of the farmers' carts as they drove through the streets, allowing themselves to be pulled along in the snow.
It was a wild, exciting game, and they laughed as the snow sprayed up around them.
While they were playing, a great white sledge drove into the square. It was painted entirely white, and the driver was wrapped in a heavy white fur coat and wore a white fur cap.
The sledge drove twice around the square, and Kai, who was feeling very brave and very clever, quickly tied his little blue sled to the back of it.
The sledge began to move faster. It turned out of the square and drove down the main street, then through the town gates.
The snow began to fall so thickly that Kai could no longer see his own hands, but the sledge flew onward.
Every time Kai tried to untie his rope, the driver turned around and nodded to him in such a friendly, familiar way that he stayed where he was.
He felt a strange, cold thrill.
He cried out to the driver to stop, but the wind swallowed his voice. The snow drifts grew deeper, and the sledge flew over them as if it had wings.
Kai was terrified. He tried to say his prayers, but his mind was empty of everything except the multiplication tables and the rules of geometry.
Suddenly, the great sledge stopped. The driver stood up.
The fur coat and cap were made of nothing but snow, and the driver was a lady, tall, slender, and glittering with a brilliant, blinding whiteness.
It was the snow queen.
We have made good time, she said, and her voice sounded like the tinkling of ice on a winter pond. But you are shivering. Creep into my bearskin.
She pulled Kai into her great sledge and wrapped the heavy white fur around him. It felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift.
Then she leaned down and kissed his forehead.
Her kiss was colder than ice. It went straight through his forehead and into his heart, which was already half frozen.
For a moment, Kai felt as if he were going to die. Then the feeling passed, and he did not notice the cold at all.
She kissed him a second time.
Now, you will forget your home and Gerda and your grandmother, she said.
And he did. The memory of the rooftop garden, the red roses, and the warm kitchen faded away like smoke in the wind.
A third kiss would have killed him, so she did not give it.
She stood up in the sledge and they rose into the air. They flew high over the black pine forests, over the frozen lakes and over the wide gray seas where the whale swam.
Below them, the winter wind howled and the wolves cried in the dark, but above them, the moon shown large and bright.
Kai looked up at it all through the long winter night, and during the day, she slept at the snow queen's feet.
Back in the town, the snow melted and spring returned, but Kai did not come home.
He is dead, the boys in the square said. He must have drowned in the river that runs past the town.
Gerda sat in her room and cried for many days.
The sun shown warm upon her face, and the roses in the window box began to bloom again.
Kai is dead and gone, said Gerda to the sunshine.
I do not believe it, said the sunshine.
He is dead and gone, she said to the swallows who built their nests under the eaves.
We do not think so, they twittered.
And at last, Gerda began to believe them.
I will go and look for him, she said.
One morning, very early, before anyone else in the town was awake, Gerda went down to the river.
She was wearing her favorite things, a pair of brand new red shoes.
She stood on the bank and looked at the water.
Is it true that you have taken my playmate? she asked. I will give you my red shoes if you will bring him back to me.
The waves seemed to nod. Gerda took off her shoes and threw them into the water, but they fell close to the bank, and the small waves washed them right back to her feet.
It was as if the river did not want to take her treasure because it had not taken Kai.
But Gerda thought she had not thrown them far enough. There was a little boat lying in the reeds, and she climbed into it, walked to the far end, and threw the shoes into the deep water.
The boat was not tied, and her movement pushed it away from the bank. Before she could turn around, the boat was drifting into the current, floating faster and faster down the river.
Gerda was frightened. She began to cry, but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her back to land.
They flew along the bank, chirping as if to comfort her. Here we are, here we are.
The river carried the boat past green fields and dark woods.
Gerda sat quiet and still in her blue dress, with only her bare feet showing.
Perhaps the river is taking me to Kai, she thought.
After many hours, the boat drifted near a large cherry orchard, where there stood a small, strange house.
It had a thatched roof and windows made of red, blue, and yellow glass that glowed in the sun.
Outside the door stood two wooden soldiers, who looked as if they were guarding the place.
Gerda called out to them, but they did not answer, for they were only wood.
But the noise she made brought an old, old woman out of the house.
She leaned on a crutch and wore a large sun hat, painted with the most beautiful, colorful flowers.
You poor little child, said the old woman. How did you ever get onto this great rushing river?
She walked into the water, hooked her crutch into the boat, and pulled it to the shore. She helped Gerda out, and Gerda was glad to feel the dry grass under her feet.
Now tell me who you are and how you came here, said the old woman.
Gerda told her everything, about Kai and the roses and her long journey.
The old woman listened, nodding her head and saying, "Hmm, hmm."
When Gerda asked if she had seen Kai, the old woman said, "He has not come past yet, but he will. Do not be sad. Come into my house and taste my cherries and look at my flowers. They are more beautiful than any picture book, and every one of them can tell a story."
She took Gerda by the hand and led her into the little house. The door was shut, and the sun shown through the colored window panes, casting beautiful shades of red, blue, and yellow across the floor.
On the table was a large bowl of ripe, sweet cherries, and Gerda ate as many as she liked.
While she ate, the old woman combed Gerda's hair with a golden comb, and as the comb moved through her hair, Gerda began to forget.
She forgot Kai, she forgot her grandmother, and she forgot her home.
For the old woman was a sorceress, not a wicked one, but one who practiced a little magic for her own amusement.
She was very lonely, and she wanted very much to keep the sweet little girl with her forever.
After Gerda had eaten and her hair was combed, the old woman went out into her garden.
She took her crutch and touched every rose bush in the yard, and instantly, they all sank deep into the dark earth, leaving nothing but bare soil.
The old woman did this because she knew that if Gerda saw the roses, she would remember her own garden, think of Kai, and run away.
Then she took Gerda out to play. The garden was a wonderful place, filled with every flower you could think of, and they were always in bloom, no matter the season.
Gerda played there for many days, running among the lilies, the daisies, and the bluebells. She was very happy, but she always felt as if something were missing, though she could not remember what it was.
One day, she was sitting in the parlor, looking at the old woman's sun hat.
The old woman had forgotten to paint out the rose on her hat when she banished the real roses from the garden.
Gerda stared at the painted rose.
Why are there no roses here? she asked.
She ran through the garden, searching every bed, but there was not a single rose to be found.
Gerda sat down on the grass and began to weep.
Her warm tears fell exactly on the spot where one of the rose bushes had been sunk into the earth.
The tears watered the soil, and in an instant, the rose bush sprang up, blooming and beautiful, just as it had been before.
Gerda looked at the red flowers, and the scent of them filled the air.
Kai, she cried. What have I been doing? I was going to look for him, and I have been sitting here playing in the sun.
She ran to the edge of the garden, but the gate was locked.
She worked the rusty latch until it gave way, and she stepped out into the road. Her feet were bare and cold.
She looked around and saw that the summer was gone. It was late autumn. The leaves were yellow and wet, and the sky was gray.
How much time I have lost, said Gerda. I must not stop for a single moment.
The road was rough, and Gerda's feet grew sore. She walked on through the cold, gray autumn until she reached a wide, open plain where the wind blew sharp and bitter.
As she sat down on a stone to rest, a large, wise crow hopped down near her. He had been watching her for some time, and now he tilted his head and said, "Caw, caw. Good day, little girl."
He could not speak very clearly, but he was a friendly crow. And when Gerda told him she was looking for Kai, he flapped his wings and looked very thoughtful.
It might be, said the crow. It just might be that I have seen him, but he has forgotten you by now with his princess.
His princess? asked Gerda, her heart beating fast.
Yes, said the crow. In this country, there is a princess who is so clever that she has read all the newspapers in the world and forgotten them again, which is how clever she is.
Not long ago, she decided she wanted to marry, but she wanted a husband who could speak for himself, not one who just stood there looking grand.
So, she had it announced that any young man who wished to try his luck should come to the palace.
Thousands came, but they all grew quiet and foolish when they entered the grand halls, except for one.
On the third day, a little fellow came walking up to the palace. He had no carriage, no horse, and his boots creaked terribly, but he had a little bundle on his back, and his eyes shown bright.
That was Kai! cried Gerda. He had his little blue sled on his back when he left.
Well, said the crow. He went right up to the princess. He was not afraid at all. He said he had not come to woo her, but to hear her wisdom, and he liked her, and she liked him, and so they were married.
Oh, it must be Kai, said Gerda. He is so clever. He can do mental arithmetic up to fractions. Please, can you take me to the palace?
It is not easy for a little girl like you to get in, said the crow. But my sweetheart is a tame crow who lives in the palace, and she knows the back stairs.
That night, the crow led Gerda through the dark park of the palace, where the lights were turning out one by one.
They went to a small back door where the tame crow was waiting. She was very polite and led them up the narrow stairs through grand, silent rooms filled with velvet and gold.
They reached the royal bed chamber. In the center of the room hung a great pillar of gold, and from it hung two beds shaped like lilies.
One was white where the princess slept, and the other was red where the prince slept.
Gerda parted the red leaves of the bed. She saw the back of a young man's neck with thick brown hair.
Kai, she called softly, holding the candle near.
The prince woke and turned his head.
It was not Kai.
He was handsome and kind, but his eyes were different, and his face was not the face of her playmate.
Gerda began to cry, and her tears woke the princess, who looked out from her white lily bed.
When she saw the little girl crying in the middle of the room, she asked what was the matter.
Gerda sat on the edge of the bed and told them her story, and how the crow had helped her.
The prince and princess were not angry. They patted Gerda's head, and the prince got out of his bed and let her sleep there for the rest of the night.
The next morning, they did not send her away. Instead, they gave her a pair of beautiful, warm boots, a heavy coat, and a muff made of soft fur to keep her hands warm.
Best of all, they brought out a carriage made of pure gold with the prince's coat of arms shining on the side.
The coachman and the footmen wore golden crowns, and the carriage was filled with sugar bread, fruit, and gingerbread.
Farewell, farewell, cried the prince and princess. And the crow, who was now married to his sweetheart, flew along with them for the first three miles, sitting on the carriage roof.
Gerda sat in the warm golden carriage, feeling very grand, but her heart was still heavy with worry for Kai.
The carriage drove deep into a dark, gloomy forest. The gold shown like a torch in the shadows, and it did not escape the eyes of the robbers who lived there.
Gold, gold, they screamed, rushing out from the trees. They seized the horses, killed the footmen, and dragged Gerda out of the carriage.
An old, ugly robber woman with a long gray beard and bushy eyebrows held a sharp knife to Gerda's throat.
She is plump and fat, she cackled. She will taste like a fat little lamb.
But just as she raised her knife, her own daughter, who was about Gerda's age, bit her mother's ear from behind.
The robber girl was wild, stubborn, and had dark, fierce eyes.
She shall play with me, the robber girl demanded. She shall give me her muff and sleep in my bed, and I won't let you kill her unless I get angry with her.
The robber girl was so spoiled and wild that her mother could do nothing with her. She took Gerda into the golden carriage, and they drove deep into the forest to the robber's castle, a ruined, smoky hall filled with dogs, owls, and rough men drinking around a fire.
They went to a corner of the hall where the robber girl slept. Above them, in the rafters, were hundreds of wood pigeons in wooden cages, and nearby, a wild reindeer was tied by a heavy iron collar to the stone wall.
I sleep with my knife, said the robber girl, pulling a long dagger from her belt and slipping it under her pillow. You never know what might happen. Now tell me your story.
Gerda told her about Kai and how she had walked through the world to find him.
The wood pigeons in the rafters listened, and when Gerda finished, they began to coo softly.
Coo, coo, they said. We have seen Kai. He was in the snow queen's carriage, flying over our nest. He was sitting next to her as they flew over the dark pine trees. She blew her cold breath upon us, and all the young pigeons died except for the two of us. Coo, coo.
Where did she take him? Gerda asked, sitting up in the dark.
She was flying toward Lapland, the pigeons replied, for there the ground is always covered in glittering snow and ice. You should ask the reindeer who is tied to the wall. He knows all about those cold northern lands.
The reindeer jumped for joy when he heard them speak of his home. Yes, he cried, his eyes shining. It is a beautiful place of sparkling snow and wide open plains where one can run freely. That is where the snow queen has her summer tent, but her grand palace of ice is much further north, near the North Pole.
The next morning, Gerda told the little robber girl what the pigeons and the reindeer had said. The robber girl looked very thoughtful. She looked at Gerda, then at her sharp knife, and finally at the reindeer.
Do you know the way to Lapland? she asked the beast.
I know it well, the reindeer replied, his heart beating fast with hope.
The robber girl nodded. Very well. I will untie you, and you must carry this little girl to the snow queen's palace, but you must run as fast as the wind.
She helped Gerda onto the reindeer's back, tied her securely so she would not fall, and even gave her back her warm boots and heavy coat to protect her from the biting cold.
She kept the soft fur muff because she liked it too much, but she gave Gerda her mother's large, warm mittens instead.
Farewell, little Gerda, said the robber girl, waving her hand.
The reindeer leaped forward, flying through the dark forest, over rocks and rivers, heading north as fast as his legs could carry him.
They traveled for many days through wild country and deep snow, while the magnificent northern lights flickered across the dark sky like blue and green fire.
At last, they arrived in Lapland. They stopped at a tiny, miserable hut where the roof touched the ground.
Inside, a kind Lapland woman was roasting fish by the light of a whale oil lamp.
The reindeer told her Gerda's story, but first, he told her his own, which he thought was much more important.
Gerda was so cold, she could not speak at all.
Oh, you poor things, said the Lapland woman. You have a long, long way still to go. You must travel another 100 miles into the far north, to the land of Finland, where the snow queen has her winter palace.
I have no paper to write on, but I will write a message on a piece of dried codfish, and you can take it to the Finland woman who lives there. She knows more about these things than I do.
When Gerda had warmed herself and eaten some fish, the Lapland woman tied her back onto the reindeer, and off they went again.
The wind howled, and the sky turned a deep, cold blue, but the reindeer ran on without stopping until they reached the Finland woman's house.
This house was even smaller, and it was so hot inside that the Finland woman wore almost no clothes at all.
She immediately untied Gerda, pulled off her boots and mittens, and laid a piece of ice on the little girl's head to keep her from fainting in the heat.
Then, she read the message written on the dried codfish. She read it three times until she knew it by heart, and then she put the fish into the soup pot, for she never wasted anything.
The reindeer begged the Finland woman to give Gerda some magical potion, something that would give her the strength of 12 men so she could overcome the snow queen.
The Finland woman smiled gently and patted the reindeer's head.
The strength of 12 men would do her no good, she whispered.
Do you not see how great her power already is? Look how the wild beasts and even the robbers have helped her. Look how she has walked through the world on her own bare feet.
Her power does not come from magic. It comes from her sweet, innocent heart.
Because she is a loving, brave child, the ice cannot defeat her.
We cannot give her any power greater than what she already has.
She turned to the reindeer.
The snow queen's garden begins only two miles from here. Carry Gerda to the large bush with the red berries, standing in the snow.
Leave her there and return to me immediately. Do not lose any time.
The reindeer carried Gerda to the bush with the red berries. He kissed her on the lips, and great bright tears ran down his furry cheeks.
Then he turned and ran back as fast as he could, leaving little Gerda standing alone in the freezing cold, without her boots and without her mittens, for she had forgotten them in her haste.
Gerda ran forward into the biting wind. Suddenly, she was surrounded by a whole army of giant, terrifying snowflakes.
They did not fall from the sky, but ran along the ground, growing larger and stranger as they came closer.
Some looked like giant, prickly porcupines. Others like tangled knots of snakes, and some like white, shaggy bears.
They were the snow queen's advanced guard.
Gerda did not despair. She began to say her prayers, and as the cold air left her mouth, her breath turned into a thick white mist.
Out of this mist stepped hundreds of tiny, bright angels, armed with shields and spears.
By the time Gerda finished her prayer, a whole legion of angels stood around her. They struck the snow monsters with their spears, breaking them into a thousand pieces.
Gerda walked on safely, her heart warm and full of courage, while the angels patted her hands and feet to keep them from freezing.
At last, she reached the snow queen's palace.
The walls were made of drifting snow, and the windows were formed of the sharp, cold winds.
There were more than a hundred halls, all shaped by the howling blizzards, and they were lit by the brilliant northern lights.
In the middle of the largest, emptiest hall lay a frozen lake, cracked into a thousand perfect, identical pieces.
In the center of this lake sat the snow queen when she was at home, and she called it the mirror of reason.
But today, the snow queen was gone. She had flown south to cover the mountain tops with white snow.
Kai was alone in the vast, silent hall. He was blue with cold, almost black, but he did not feel it, for the snow queen's kisses had frozen his heart, and his mind was as cold as ice.
He was sitting on the frozen lake, playing with sharp, flat pieces of ice, trying to arrange them into words.
The snow queen had told him, "If you can spell the word eternity for me, you shall be your own master, and I will give you the whole world and a pair of new skates."
But no matter how hard he tried, he could not make the letters fit. The word was too warm for his frozen mind.
Gerda stepped into the grand hall. The cold winds tried to blow her back, but she whispered a prayer, and the winds fell asleep.
She saw Kai sitting still and stiff on the ice, like a statue.
Kai, she cried, running across the frozen lake. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight. Kai, my sweet little Kai, I have found you at last.
But Kai sat perfectly still, cold and silent.
Gerda began to weep. Her warm, heavy tears fell upon his chest and went straight through to his heart.
They melted the thick lump of ice and dissolved the tiny, wicked splinter of the goblin mirror that had been trapped inside.
Kai looked up, his eyes blinking.
Gerda sang the little hymn about the roses that they used to sing in their rooftop garden. "Where roses bloom so sweet and fair, the child Christ we shall meet there."
When Kai heard the song, he burst into tears. He cried so hard that the second splinter of glass, the one in his eye, was washed away by his tears.
He looked at Gerda, and suddenly, he recognized her. Gerda, he cried, his voice warm and full of joy. Dear Gerda, where have you been all this time? And where have I been?
He looked around the cold, empty palace of ice. He clung to her, and they both laughed and cried for joy.
Even the flat pieces of ice on the lake began to dance with happiness, and when they grew tired and fell back down, they laid themselves out to spell the very word, eternity.
Now, Kai was free. He was his own master, and the snow queen had no more power over him.
Gerda kissed his cold cheeks, and they turned rosy and warm again. She kissed his eyes, and they shown as bright as stars.
They walked out of the ice palace hand in hand, and as they stepped outside, the cold winds died down and the sun began to shine.
They found the reindeer waiting for them at the bush with the red berries, and he had brought another young reindeer with him.
The two beasts carried Kai and Gerda back to the Finland woman, who warmed them and gave them food, and then to the Lapland woman, who made them new clothes and guided them on their way home.
As they reached the borders of their own country, the first green grass began to peep through the snow, and they heard the sweet singing of the birds.
Suddenly, a young girl came riding toward them on a magnificent horse. It was the little robber girl.
She had grown tired of the forest and was traveling to see the world. She recognized Gerda immediately, and she was very glad to see them both.
You are a strange boy, she said to Kai, shaking her head. I would like to know if you are worth the trouble this girl took to find you.
But she smiled and shook their hands, promising to visit them if she ever came to their town.
Kai and Gerda walked on, hand in hand, through the green fields and the blooming woods. They heard the church bells ringing, and they recognized the high towers of their own town.
They walked through the familiar streets and up the stairs to their grandmother's room.
Everything was just as they had left it. The old grandfather clock was ticking, and the red roses in the window boxes were in full bloom.
But as they passed through the doorway, they looked at each other and realized something wonderful.
They were no longer little children. They had grown up during their long journey. Yet in their hearts, they remained as simple, innocent, and loving as they had always been.
And there they sat, side by side, under the blooming roses, while the warm summer sun shown down upon them.
It was a long journey, full of cold winds, dark forests, and frozen hearts, but love and courage brought them home at last.
Have you ever had to be brave for someone you love, even when the path ahead seemed cold and uncertain?