Life is simple in Frostspire, a sleepy little village perched by the sea, cradled in the lap of mountains tall and snow-clad. Yet a simple life is not without its problems. Fortunately, the folk of Frostspire have someone to turn to when in need; a...
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Winter grew harsher. Lars did not return.
Icewater Creek froze over, the ice so thick one could cross it without using the stone bridge that lay across it. One afternoon Alvar walked to Ilaira's lake, to see how she was doing. Solid ice lay deep over the surface of the lake, powdered with freshly fallen snow.
He found the nymph sitting on a rock by the shore, a circlet wrought of ice adorning her head. The cold did not seem to bother her at all, but rather, she basked in its presence, the silence of the woods, the caress of the wind, the shivering leaves. The whole world was varying shades of grey and white, like a faded old painting, only the blue of frozen streams and black of tree-barks stood out against the vast paleness.
She was humming to herself when Alvar came up to stand beside her. He listened to her for a while, but found no particular tune to the wordless song. Then again, most wonderful things had lost their meaning to him lately.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“We're singing, of course,” said Ilaira.
“We?” He looked around, but there was no one else there. “Why, I see nobody except you and me.”
“See through your ears what your eyes cannot,” she said.
Alvar frowned. Magical folk were always so enigmatic. He was just a simple lad, and prefered things spoken outright. Nevertheless, he fell quiet, sat down beside Ilaira and listened.
A low humming reached his ears, coming from deep within the frozen surface of the lake. The more he listened, the louder it grew, shrill and high at times, and so deep sometimes it seemed to thrum in his bones, the same way the beating of a drum echoes in one's chest. The cracks in the ice were alive with an eerie song, one that was frightening yet comforting at the same time.
“You hear it?” asked Ilaira, “the singing ice?”
He nodded. “Sure do.”
She hopped off the rock and walked barefoot on the ice with him. Alvar kept his fur boots on, because unlike mystical guardians of the forests, he was very much at risk of frostbites, and would prefer to have both his legs functioning for many years to come.
