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Treachery was what the thistles symbolized. Treachery, and malice, and hatred.

There, on the hilltop, as the pure white of the snow was stained deep red, you cried. As the thick snowflakes fell and covered the body with a light dusting of frost, your tears mingled with them, the heat melting them. Pure white snow, pure white innocence and kindness, concealing a black, rotten soul.

There, on the hilltop, with the sugar-dusting frosted on the body lying in the thistles, you swore to find your father's murderer.

You swore revenge.

Go to the village square.