By the time the snow fell, Sif was used to living with humans again. He slept curled in a pile of his kittens, now lanky and fast growing into adult cats; woke and carefully tended the matters of the village before going out and wandering. He liked to revisit places he had been with Helna and reminisce on their time together. Helna liked the winter, as she never grew cold; the ice around her was as ornament.

He spent some time trying to like it; but in the end, it only served to remind him of his first winter spent alone. If he had been even half as intelligent back then as he was now, he would've given up entirely on living. The children of the village all reminded him of his strange thing, and he had been asked to bless several babies and pregnant women since entering Helna's body. He could not stand the thought of any of them dying so terribly.

What was much better than the snow was the hearth, and he spent much time indoors, stretched out in front of it with his little cats. Though the old woman offered him a chair, he preferred laying in front of the fire to warm himself; after some time, he was compelled to take a blanket to lay on, which suited him just fine.

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