You find the Soldier’s Brother standing alone in the snow. He hears your approach and walks toward you.

“It’s been some time since we last spoke, child. How are you?”

You tell him you are doing well. The night air grows colder, and the chill settles deep into your bones. You mention the cat you met, explaining that she is searching for something. You also ask him how he has been and what he has been up to.

“I have been lonely, searching for my brother. Has he spoken of me?”

You tell him that his brother refuses to reflect on those times, burdened by a guilt that seems to weigh heavily on him.

“I can understand that. I miss him dearly, especially on nights like this, nights when we would spend time together. We would set up a tree and decorate it with whatever we could make or find.” A sadness fills his eyes, and his voice falters. After a moment, he asks:

“Did he get my letter?”

You recall that long ago you delivered a letter to his brother, who received it with anger. You tell him this.

“I remember seeing him. I remember how I felt.”

He pauses briefly before continuing:

“There was something we used to share, something that brought us both joy. Cookies. Not just any cookies, but gingerbread cookies our father’s cook would make when we were young.”

You wonder where you might find such cookies, but you promise to search for them. He smiles, though behind that smile lies a world of frozen pain.