Yet the deathly cold was giving way like ice before the sun.

He could feel his heart beating where before he had felt nothing.

A hand that was not Puck's came out of the void beyond her and held a spoonful of spirit to his mouth.

He swallowed it with difficulty, and was conscious of a greater warmth.
"There, my own boy, my own boy!" she murmured over him.

"You're coming back to me.