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Twelve - It's the cold that brings me rigour.
So Chapter Two: Nowhere of me begins.
I like to think the crow is still following us like an asshole, despite us chasing it off.
Narration: (As the days passed the weather worsened, becoming heavier. The snow, intermittent as you descended the mountain towards the resting place, fell more heavily. Now it is an almost constant flurry, falling fast and only stopping to give way to grey skies, barely pierced by the light of the sun.)
(You took a tenuous path, erased by snow and time. At times you get lost, then you find your way. You know that there will come a moment when you cannot find it again. Beyond that there is nothing. You must choose a route and try to keep to it. Three possibilities offer themselves up to you.)
(You could follow the forest to the south. The landscape, less slippery, will give you shelter against the wind and the cold. On the other hand, the presence of wild animals will give you pause. The territory of the wolves and bears stretches far beyond the edge of the forest. Even if you keep a good distance from the forest, the risk of being eaten is great.)
(The most logical route would be to go straight through the tundra to the base of the mountains. You will no doubt avoid all risk of meeting a wild animal, but you will be attacked by a constant and biting cold. In the heart of the tundra there will be no tree nor nook to help you escape from the blizzard. It is a short path with little danger, but it is grueling. Nonetheless, this remains your best option.)
(The least dangerous option would be to bypass the tundra to the north. The landscape, being more hilly, offers little exposure to the wind while also being as barren and uninhabited as the tundra. It is, however, a long path. Very long. Too long. It will take you twice as long to reach your destination. Other than your rations which, already insufficient, will surely run out midway, it is above all the loneliness which you should fear. It is a journey that is far, far too long. You do not know if you can take such a long bout of isolation.)
(The choice, however, remains open. Whether you go via the edge of the forest, the tundra or the hills, your destination remains the same. You must reach the river.)
Well, this is getting even crazier.
As the Volva, we went with the 'best' option through the tundra, so this time we'll go another way. Why not go full insanity and take the long north path? 
Besides, it's not like we have any loneliness to fear! Haþuwīgą has lots of friends with her!
Of course.
More restless sleep, yay.
Instead of launching right into a combat though, we're just back in our village.
And it's... not exactly laid out the same as last time. Going through that door puts us in the middle of this screen:
There are a lot of ways to leave the screen.
All but one transport us back to the beginning.
So we have to memorize a path that isn't even real.
Memory of Stig Lasakki: It's rare to see a woman on the road. Especially here. I hope the volva has everything under control. One never knows. The communal house is not open to just anyone, you know.
Some of them are hazy spirits, some still have human form, but interestingly, none of them attack.
Memory of Jasper Lisakki: Hin! (The old man grumbles) That is the cost of accepting strangers. They are not our kind of people. They only cause us problems... They don't know us. They don't understand us, they don't try to understand us. Most are there to steal from us. Why do we accept them? This is our land, after all!
Memory of Inkeri: (Coldly) Stranger? I shall have to ask you to leave the village. I think it would be... better for you. Here, you are of no use, you are reassuring no-one. You worry us. You are not welcome. Yes, that's it. Go, goodbye. Goodbye.
Hmph, maybe a battle would be less rude!
As the narration continues, more and more spirits surround us.
Narration: (I'm cold, father. I'm cold. Little by little I feel the tundra freezing me; little by little I feel that I am slowly freezing from the inside. The road is still long. The road to the river is long.)
Guess we have to leave our half-forgotten home again.
Whatevs.
Now we can continue on to the actual map icon we selected.
Narration: (You have lost all points of reference for hours. You hope to keep going in the same direction, but even the sun is not visible enough to help you find your way. There is no one on the horizon, only the howling of the wind, the cold and the continual march towards nothingness.)
(During a sunny spell you spy what seems to be abandoned buildings. As you approach you realise that there is not much left. These are perhaps ruins of large houses or farms. The inhabitants must have died years ago. You will not find food here, for certain.)
:tif:, but with ice everywhere instead of fire.
Music - Ruins
A very lazy maze to navigate, yay.
Who could have foreseen this.
When we reach the destination at the top, we are taken to a new screen.
And then when we reach the middle we have to just... sleep in the snow. Haþuwīgą I'm not so sure about this.
A fight! :cracks mental knuckles:
This feature doesn't really matter too much because of the path we chose. If, for example, we had chosen the forest, we would have a turn limit, I guess to simulate running from wolves and bears.
At the beginning of their turn, these guys switch places with the nearest entity, friend or foe, who's in range. They're weird.
While these guys just do damage.
You know what time it is.
Last option, +Humor:
Oh, you're right, I should sleep more just so that I can lose four or five fingers once and for all. Great idea!
Hey, Frida's just trying to help, no need to get snappy.
Exchange isn't very dramatic when you're already two squares away.
Frida we'll never forget youuuuuuu
Can't believe I forgot to check for traps.
Bloop
Easy. No losses...
Frida Death Count: 16
This encounter is much harder with the time limit, because the limit is 10 turns, and this took 13.
Oh goodie, this dream is multi-part.
More exchanging.
And the opportunity to see more Frida lines.
I like that sometimes the French just never gets translated.
I will protect you with shields and healing abiliti-----
Welp.
Frida Death Count: 17
Wait a minute, where did these other Haþuwīgąs come from?
Just three enemies, but these other us'es are also trouble.
The Ruins: Is it not familiar? As you contemplate this landscape where all that shines is dimmed, do you not sometimes have the feeling of contemplating yourself? You are at home; in your home, nothing remains.
So once every couple turns, one of the clones will "die" and then explode for massive damage. Of course, "explode" is just a description of the damage, this game has very little visual effects.
We can use these tiles to teleport to their corresponding color on the map, taking us well out of range of the damage.
The Ruins: Uprooted, what else do you have? You have no more house, no more home, you have nowhere to return to at night after your long walk. You have no more attachments. It is as if you were floating in infinite waters, you alone in these clear waters barely crossed by elusive animals. And in the distance, you watch yourself drifting, drifting far away from something, far from something that you no longer recognize. Your house, little girl, is in ruins.
The shards start powering up Goku-style for a turn before exploding, so there's plenty of warning.
Zip
The Ruins: Of the father, not much remains... A box, a little box that you carry, like a pilgrim, a burden imposed on you or which you impose on yourself. It is heavy, much heavier than a man. And your loves ones... Your loved ones distanced themselves. Your friends are distancing themselves - it seems that there was never much of a feeling of kinship among you. Men or women who were once tied together, now undo those ties. Were they poorly joined...? Your family, little girl, is in ruins.
No monologue with the third shard, sad.
The Ruins: Here there are only vestiges. Everything that resists being wiped out, all that resists is here. Keep your vestiges, little girl, keep your ruins and keep your junk, it's all that you have left. These are your old stones. This is your house; it is your family. It is only in a ruined castle that you can see the sky. It is only in manure that sacred flowers grow.
More enemies also gradually appear. 
Frida.
The Ruins: Sitting in your funereal junk you sail gently, gently on a smooth sea, smooth as a horizon veiled with snow.
And then we all die. We did it!
Nice.
Frida Death Count: 18
Another very fun night exposed to the elements, another level-up!
This time I'm expanding our repertoire a little bit with the first of the Composition skills, focusing on creating (composing) stories and songs. They synergise nicely with Support skills.
Now we can bid these well-fenced ruins (what ancient magical empire must have built such mighty fences?) goodbye, for now.