Breathy words that melt the ice whispered with tears and then she falls through his name a memory on her lips. And then, nothing. And gray, gray, gray, washed in fog and finalised by ice winds. She has earned the blade- she has received her dignity. By falling have they realised this. No words spoken from the living to the living only from the living to the dead. He reaches down, kisses the memory of his name, and, not giving like the others, but taking instead, slices a lock of raven hair and begs forgiveness. But the ice takes her under where she is frozen in time and can hear no more. He is cut, torn from himself, lost. He can no longer speak, and forgets his own name. Not much left to remember. No one worth talking to anymore.