Before the forest, he had known only the cold.

No... that was a lie. It was not the only thing he had known; he had known many other things too – warm, colourful things, things and people and gentle landscapes, rolling hills and teeming cities, but the thought of them had made the cold so much bitter.
He had tried not to dwell on far-away warmth and joy, for here, at the end of all things, there was none.

Eventually the thoughts of warmth had fled his mind. Fate is an unkind mistress, and woe to those who rebel against her – and so, slowly, a small thought had trickled into his mind. Had he deserved this? What had he done wrong?
He had searched for someone to ask, and in the dark backwaters of his mind he had found Mother. At last, someone to share the loneliness with! It did not matter that she never answered him, it did not matter that the stone he had carved for her was cold. Someone to talk to, someone to beg forgiveness from, in this land of barren rock and icy winds.

A frozen land for a frozen heart.