I can see trees in the distance. We all know what this means. We have made it. After all this time, we have done it. The children, those who can still walk, climb down from their mothers' arms and run ahead. We watch, but we do not run. We will march in as those who will not be so easily cast aside again.

The ice has begun to melt in patches. The reign of the cold has finally ended. Some walk straighter, some smile, and some have renewed strength in their eyes. We have escaped.

I look back once, and only once. Ice stretches as far the eye can see, cold and glittering. No matter how we spend the rest of our days, we will see it sometimes, in our minds. The cold will never really leave our veins. The ice will haunt us, calling softly to us always. It is part of who we are. We shall never forget, nor shall we ever be the same.

I turn my eyes forward again as we march, more quickly now, the return of hope strengthening us. The horizon approaches.