Ali felt numb, drifting in and out of consciousness as his body had begun to meld with the snow. He knew, vaguely, that he was freezing. But he hadn't the thought to get up, and he was growing warmer where he was, or so he thought. Somehow, he also felt more cold. A sticky, warm liquid coated his hand and leg, unaware it was his own blood. Ali lifted his head once, surging to life for a brief moment in defiance, before he collapsed again into the snow. That was when the woman found him. 

His world, dark and grim, became one of bright light when he opened his eyes and saw her. He did not know who, and very nearly couldn't guess what, he was looking at. When his blood-drained body had granted him the ability to think, he did not ask for help, or for warmth, or thought of his own mortality. Strangely, he idly thought she was quite pretty. 

Ali did not have the self awareness at the moment to understand the absurdity of the thought, and so he just thought it for awhile until he nearly passed out again. He felt her try and warm him, pleading with him to get up. After a minute of this, he groaned. He forced his eyes open, and snow hit him in the eyes. He grunted in discomfort, but it woke him up enough to stoke a flame in his heart. "What?" He gasped, and at her insistence he managed to sit up, and then stagger to his feet. 

He nearly fell on the woman, his weight almost bowling her over. But she wasn't as weak as she looked, and with his help he managed to get walking, stumbling down the road. Ali was not certain how long they walked; likely only a few minutes. But he would never forget the walk, the wintry countryside and the woman holding her up, to unaware to feel the fatigue gnawing at his limbs. In his memory he would think himself floating. Soon, they entered a building, one he would later learn was this woman's shop and place of residence. The carpets and fetishes among the decorum were bright and colorful, but he soon passed out after that, fading into oblivion until he next awoke, seeing her once again.