Iktome Plains dead souls and a really big globe.

Artaax ignored her as she spoke, but that didn't mean he didn't hear her. He would remember her words eventually. They might even be what inspired him to move again after spending hours just lying there, trying to will himself to dissolve into the snow and disappear. It was so terribly cruel to have his entire life and sense of self stolen away, but be left an empty husk that still needed to function and survive. He preferred to waste away, and maybe there was still hope for that. But it would take too long, and he'd be left here in the torrent of his misery until then.

He didn't notice when she left. He wasn't aware of anything but his heartache until long after the sun had set and his body hurt so much from cold and hunger that it was finally enough for him to pay attention to. Only then did the Feisripa move. This time, it was in no particular direction. The drive to exact revenge from the family that had been the first to abandon him was gone. He knew now that it would do him no good, and on some level, he still felt far too protective of them to truly hurt them. Artaax had so little left, and they unfortunately made up half of that meager handful. He would leave them be. He would go away and he would leave them all be.

He turned back East and began to walk.