Chapter 38- Was The Warmth Much Needed

The forest breathes around them.
No words. Just the quiet crunch of boots through pillowy snow and the ghost-soft song of a creature who doesn’t quite know the key—
but sings anyway.

“She’ll be climbing up the mountain when she goes~”
“She’ll be CLIMB—ing up the mountain—when she… she…”
“Ohh she’ll be climbing…!”
(whispered) “…I think.”

Ydoc narrows his eyes.

“…What in the Great Void are you singing?”

Froosta doesn’t even flinch.
He laughs, bright and airy, bouncing a step ahead with his scarf fluttering like a comet tail.

“A classic! They sang it in the Sahash camps when I was little. Probably. I think.”

Ydoc raises a brow.

“You think.”

Froosta winks over his shoulder.

“It might have been about bears. Or food. Or summoning a storm goddess. But I like this version better.”

Ydoc snorts.

Despite himself.

The forest opens gently, like arms parting.
No wind.
No danger.
Just snow-draped trees, icicle-laced branches, and a quiet light filtering through the clouds like spilled milk and fireflies.

It should feel eerie.
But Froosta makes it feel like a stage—
like every step was written by a dancing pencil that wanted joy more than logic.

And then—
they see it.

The waterfall.

Not grand. No thunder.
A cliff barely taller than Ydoc himself—eight feet, maybe nine—but the water?

It’s frozen in motion.

A curtain of clear glass, etched in gentle blue, cascading mid-fall like someone paused the world.
Yet below the ice—life still moves.

Glowing green fish swirl under the frozen crust, their tails whispering through liquid paths, unbothered by the rules of temperature.
Some even swim up the frozen falls, inside the icy veil—like ghosts in a dream.

A pulse of green, then blue, then green again—
The lights shift gently in rhythm, like a heartbeat.

Ydoc stops.
So does Froosta.

Neither speak.

For a moment, nothing but the sound of Froosta’s happy breathing.

Then—

“Do you think,” Ydoc says slowly, “the fish know they’re magic?”

Froosta leans close to the ice, fogging it with a giggle.

“If I looked like that, I’d assume I was divine.”

He claps his hands.

“Let’s climb it.”

Ydoc stares.

“Climb the waterfall?”

“Yes.”
Froosta grins, nose pressed against the cold.
“Because why not? It’s enchanted. It wants to be climbed.”

And before Ydoc can answer, Froosta has already scrambled up onto a snowy root and is halfway onto the glittering slope, his boots squeaking slightly on the ice.

Ydoc sighs.

“You’re going to fall.”

“Then you’ll catch me!”
Froosta calls back, halfway up the frozen stream.
“Isn’t that what friends do?”

Ydoc watches the absurd boy scramble with the elegance of a snow-wind fox and wonders if maybe… just maybe…

he wants to catch him.
   ==---The Joys of Snow--==

“I’m not climbing that.”

Ydoc crosses his arms, staring at the glittering frozen waterfall like it had just dared him to make a mistake. His voice is flat, but there’s a thread of warmth curling at the end like a ribbon on a gift he didn’t mean to wrap.

Froosta, halfway up the sloping curtain of ice, beams over his shoulder.

“Well duh, that’s why you’re down there!”
“To catch me when I fall!”

His giggle is high-pitched, almost musical, a bubbling sound that defies the quiet around them. The Divide listens—but does not interrupt.
No wind.
No snow.
Just stillness.
As if even the forest understands: don’t freeze this moment.

Ydoc sighs with an exaggerated shrug.

“You realize if you fall on me, you’ll shatter every bone in my twiggy, gaunt little body.”

“Snowmen shouldn’t be this dramatic!” Froosta chirps.
“I mean—you’ve got cheekbones sharp enough to cut the ice! Honestly, if you were climbing, you’d already be at the top by now!”

He slips—just a little—and squeaks, sliding back a foot.
Ydoc’s hands twitch, prepared. Watching. Just in case.

“Yeah,” Ydoc mutters with a slight smirk, “and then I’d melt.”

Froosta steadies himself and looks down with stars in his eyes—bright, reverent, whole-hearted.

“Looks are deceiving, you know.”
“Once, I saw you climb a tower.”

Ydoc blinks.

“Oh really. To save a princess?”

“No~” Froosta grins, slipping again—this time catching a glittery ridge.
“Felinkin was sick and we’d locked the door by mistake.”

“Very noble.”
Ydoc’s smile breaks wider.
“Did I climb it heroically?”

“You swore the whole way up,” Froosta laughs, hauling himself another step.
“And when you got to the top, you didn’t say a word—you just kicked the window open, dragged her out, and muttered something about ‘getting lunch before someone else locks the outhouse’.”

Ydoc laughs—a real laugh, deep in the chest, like a fireplace popping.

And Froosta laughs too.

It echoes gently.

Their joy moves like a current beneath the trees.

And then—Froosta reaches the top.

He plants his feet, breathes in, and pauses.

Something shifts.

Just slightly.

His body stills.

The smile lingers for a second too long—frozen in place.

Then, quietly, quickly—he turns around.

“Coming back down!”

His voice is cheerful, but rushed.
He scrambles faster than before, barely looking down, fur bristling from more than just cold.

Ydoc narrows his eyes.
The moment is changing.

What did you see, snow prince?

Froosta lands back in the snow with a soft whump, his scarf fluttering like a flag.

Ydoc arches a brow.

“So. Felinkin, huh?”
“I always thought he was a he.”

Froosta laughs, but it’s a little brittle, a bell cracked at the rim.

“Oh! Well, um—he is. Now.”
“But at the time he was a woman. Holokons can… change what they’ve got, you know. Like frogs. Only faster.”

He waves his hand vaguely.

“And… uh… it’s not pleasant. Hurts like fire. Anyway!”

He straightens up, brushing ice from his coat.

“We should… uh. We should keep moving.”

Ydoc squints at him.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“No I’m not. I’m… redirecting.”
“There’s a difference.”

He starts walking ahead, too fast for the gentle slope, almost tripping on a root.

Ydoc watches him, the unease creeping back in.

What did you see, Froosta?

She stands at the top of the frozen waterfall where Froosta just was.
Snow-white leaves woven through her hair like antlers. Twigs braided into her dress.
Her skin is silver under the soft blue light, and runes pulse faintly across her arms and hips—glowing, shifting, ancient.
Her eyes are gray-blue ice, but when she smiles it’s with the warmth of a snake before the bite.

She doesn’t drift or glide—she leans, lazy, against the frozen curtain like a queen surveying insects.

And when she speaks—

The voice is sweet.
The words are poison.

“So this is what crawled out of the north.”
“The queer beast of the ice-woods, trailing its tail between its legs.”

Froosta freezes mid-step, ears flat.

She tilts her head, eyes sliding to Ydoc.

“And the Raven-Monster of the Divide,” she purrs.
“How quaint. Two vile creatures sniffing at each other like strays. Did you already beg him to mount you, Snow Prince? Or are you saving that for the road?”

Her smile deepens. The runes on her skin flare brighter.

“I would clap, but my hands are dirty enough.”

The stillness of the forest sharpens. Even the green fish under the ice seem to slow.

Froosta swallows but says nothing. His body vibrates—not with joy this time, but with a suppressed, ugly shiver.

Ydoc feels it like a ripple in the snow.

The Divide itself seems to be holding its breath.