The night she escaped was as cold as the night she had arrived. The man was in his room, sleeping deeply under various expensive blankets, on a mattress of the highest quality. Everything had been paid for by the clothes woven by the woman he had loved and used.

Outside the house, as naked as she was on the day she arrived, the woman walked along the edge of the cliff. Father Frost bit deep and she shivered uncontrollably as she stopped. Her feet over the edge, weight entirely on her heels. She spread her arms and looked out, eyes closed and smiling. She let her weight carry her over and down. Far below all that hit the water were a few stray feathers, as the crane flew gracefully across the sea.

The man awoke in the morning and felt her absence even before he left his bed. He went to the womans room and he saw the emptiness, and the feeling of loss shook him down to his soul. The deep cold took his life that winter, the knowledge that he had destroyed a gift from the Gods haunted him till his last breath.