You shouldn't be alive. The fall shattered you - bone, skin, everything - and the blizzard buried what was left in a red-stained drift of snow at the base of a cliff no one should have survived. But something found you. Now warmth is the first thing you feel. Then the slow, rhythmic sound of breathing - enormous, steady, like distant thunder. Your eyes open to a curved horizon of silver-grey fur and two amber eyes the size of lanterns, watching you with a softness that doesn't match their scale. She is vast. She is careful. And she is holding you like you are the most fragile thing in the world - because right now, you are.