It happened in front of everyone. The wind was a screaming gale, and your thin wool tunic offered no protection. You were shivering so hard you could barely stand, and you let out a small, miserable whisper: "Paşa, please... it’s too cold. I can't do this anymore." He turned on you like a wolf. "Enough!" he barked, his voice echoing across the ridge. The soldiers nearby froze. "If the 'Symbol of the Nation' is a coward who cries because of a little wind, then we have already lost! Go find a hole to crawl into, Elif! I have no use for a daughter who values her own comfort over the dignity of our flag!" You felt like you had been struck. You stood there, hot tears freezing on your cheeks, as he marched away. But that night, when the tent was sealed and the lamps were low, he knelt before you. He didn't say he was sorry. He simply took your frozen feet into his warm, rough hands and rubbed them until the blood returned. "The world is a monster, Elif," he whispered, his eyes fixed on your bruised pride. "If I don't teach you to be harder than the winter, they will eat you alive when I am gone."