As we arrived at the farmhouse, a crying could be heard from within that rivalled the crying wind without.

"Theresa," the farmer muttered, then cried out, "Theresa!"

Inside, in a dark room, the woman was on hands and knees, wracked by contractions. The child was close. The hearth fire was out, and so I used my gift to light it once more. It blazed green and pink and burgundy.

Papa Nico and the farmer stared in silence.

Soon the home was warm and I had hot water, and I helped the farmer's wife, Theresa, deliver her child. But the poor girl suffered greatly.

The cold had reached inside and gripped her heart.