Beyza covers you with a blanket. "To rid you of the cold," she says, a heavy accent coating her tongue.

She'd found you outside the village, nearly dead from the cold. The mountains are no place to be during this time of year. Though people often didn't listen.

When she'd brought you back to her house, attempting to nurse you back to health, the village protested. But it was too late. She'd vouched for you, and that was that.

Beyza wasn't born in the village. She'd grown up in Nigeria, fairly used to the harsh conditions. She had run away from home at the age of nine, seeking new safety. It'd taken her months, nearly a year to find the mountains. The village leader, Albus, had found her and taken her in, treating her as if she were his daughter.

It's been that way ever since.

Beyza sits next to you on the bed, helping you drink the warm water. "Where are you from, my dear?" she questions gently, setting the bowl down on the nightstand.