The little room was filled with the smell of cold ashes.

They had come out into an open yard dotted with cold ashes.

The fire was cold ashes by morning, but the night had been warm.

Her face was the color of cold ashes, burnt out.

The heat she'd felt so recently had turned to ashes, cold and bitter.

The fireplace in the room was full of cold ashes.

But now the flame of rebellion had died to cold ashes.

Here there were old, cold ashes, from what must have been a very large wood fire.

The cold ashes were then raked back over the fire so as to cover it.

The fireplace held nothing but a pile of cold ashes.