[ The fury has dribbled away, leeched by the cold into something a bit more numb, a bit more empty. But even that miserable sound was something, anything in this bleak nothing place.

He surges toward it.

What was that Genoa statement? The one with the backpack.

He tries to picture the man (there were... soft cheeks? The face is blurred. Red hair but... no, no its more white now, isn't it) and who he is... (Oh there's still the tea, and the fluttering when he's nervous, but there's those worn edges, and the sharper ones...) ]

Algric. Algric, stay with me. This IS Tim, and you're here with us. You have to find Jon... You're the only one who can. Help us get there.