When I was a child, I caught a glimpse of a woman on a winter’s day—a vision so hauntingly beautiful that I have never been certain if it was real or just a dream. She had long, flowing white hair that shimmered like frost in the pale light, and a sweeping cape that trailed behind her as she walked. At her side was a regal borzoi, its slender frame moving with quiet grace through the snow. The image lingers in my mind, as fleeting and mysterious as breath on cold glass.