He remembered the time when a mid-summer storm rolled over Tazmily, covering the village in thunderclaps and flashes of lightning long before the weather seemed to strike down buildings with a will of its own, where his mother had held him tight as he shivered in anxiousness - it seemed to him that the storm was already receding as he drifted to sleep in her blanketing embrace; his last memory before losing to the ebb of dreams completely was of her bringing him to the bed he shared with his brother, who slept alone with his back turned away from them, covers kicked to the bottom of the bed as if to claim in childish anger that he didn’t need their warmth after all.