It was a warm day for spring. The apple tree blossomed, transforming one moment from almost bare looking branches to a tree with a crown of flowers. There was warm wind blowing from the south through the small valley. The grass had started to grow again and it shimmered as the wind passed through it. His horn lay in the grass alongside the sword and belt. The blood had long since been washed from both. He lay down under the shade of the blossoms and fell back to sleep. He dreamed of snow.