Chapter 6 The Art of Not Freezing Everything

Breakfast with Travis was… really nice, honestly. The kind of nice that sneaks up on you and makes you forget you’re technically a fugitive. He made porridge over the fire—thick, sweet, and steaming—and we sat together at his tiny table, the wood creaking under our elbows as we talked. It was such a strange, lovely contrast to the last twelve years of talking to myself or Gilfred. The silence here isn’t heavy like it was in the tower. It’s soft. Comfortable. I learned that Travis is a bear shifter who lives out here alone because most people are terrified of him. I can relate. People tend to run from things they don’t understand. At first, I was hesitant to tell him what I am—an ice elemental with unstable powers who may or may not have caused a blizzard the size of a small country. But he didn’t flinch when I told him. He just nodded, thoughtful, as I explained that the storm was an accident brought on by… heightened emotions during my escape. I left out how I escaped, of course. I might be socially behind, but even I know you don’t discuss your first orgasm over breakfast with a stranger. Travis didn’t push. He was kind. Nothing like what I imagined a bear shifter to be. Honestly, he’s more like a giant, gruff teddy bear who’s been hurt one too many times by the world.

When I told him I had no idea where I was going—but that I wasn’t about to waste my freedom sitting still—he surprised me again. He pulled out a weathered map, spread it over the table, and patiently showed me where we were and what lay beyond: villages, rivers, territories ruled by other species. I even asked if he wanted to come with me on my spontaneous adventure. He smiled a little, that soft, sad kind of smile, and said he’d found his peace here, that he didn’t need to chase the world anymore. Before I left, he gave me a fur coat—a huge fur coat, one he made sure to clarify was from an animal, not a shifter—and a leather satchel big enough to hold my book, a few supplies, and some “definitely borrowed” food. And as I stood there, wrapped in the warmth of my new coat, Gilfred perched on my shoulder, I realised something. For the first time in my life, I had a real friend, and for a girl who’s only ever known cold and solitude, that felt like magic all on its own.

“Well, Travis. I must say, I am incredibly delighted to have committed my crimes against you.” I joke with him as we stand on his front porch in the midday sun. The snow is melting away, and I can see clearly outside now. With my supplies and guidance from my new friend, I’m ready to explore the world and all it has to offer.

Travis chuckled deeply, holding out his hand for me to shake. “The pleasure was all mine. When you’re done exploring the world, maybe you’ll come back and tell me about it?”

I take his hand, giving it one big shake and smile. “Of course. I’ll bring you all the best stories.”

And then Gilfred and I turn and walk away from our first friend. I keep glancing back until the cabin disappears behind the trees, a puff of smoke from his chimney the only sign he was ever there. My chest feels warm and a little achy. I hope everyone else in the world is as kind as Travis.

We follow the path he’d marked on the map, winding through silver pines and open patches of snow. The air is crisp but not cruel, and for once, I let the frost trail lazily behind me instead of bursting outward. Hours pass in a blur of glittering white, until the sharp scent of salt and fish hits my nose and the world opens up into movement and colour. The fishing village is exactly as Travis described—small but lively, with crooked docks jutting out into a glittering bay. People bustle through narrow streets, calling to one another, mending nets, hauling barrels. I do my absolute best to keep my emotions in check and not accidentally summon another blizzard. A few people stare as I pass—the barefoot girl wrapped in an oversized fur coat, hair a little wild, smile far too bright for someone who looks like she’s wrestled a snowstorm. But that’s fine. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” as my favourite authors would say. I find a quiet bench near the water, the sunlight glinting off the waves like shards of glass. Gilfred crawls from my shoulder to my lap, basking in the warmth, and for a moment I just… breathe.

Freedom still feels strange—like wearing someone else’s skin—but sitting here, listening to the chatter of the village and the cry of gulls, I think maybe I could get used to it. I eat my definitely-not-stolen lunch by the water and warn Gilfred not to wander too far. He gives me that unimpressed look of his before scurrying off a few feet to bask on a sun-warmed rock. Typical. The sea air is sharp and briny, stinging pleasantly against my nose. I watch the people around me work and bustle about their lives—shouting greetings, trading jokes, cursing at tangled nets. I like watching people. They’re fascinating in a way books never quite captured. The rhythm of them, the chaos and the calm all tangled together. The fishermen are especially interesting. They move like clockwork, shouting instructions over the creak of the docks and the crash of waves. Two men haul overflowing nets from their boats, while another lines up wooden crates packed with ice. Or, well… what used to be ice. Most of it’s melted into sad little puddles. I tilt my head, studying the dripping crates. The fish inside are starting to look less than fresh, and one of the men groans loudly enough for half the harbour to hear.

“Bloody sun’s killing the lot,” he mutters, kicking a crate. “We’ll be lucky if half of it’s sellable by noon.”

Something sparks in my chest—a flicker of possibility, of purpose. Ice. I can make ice. For once, it’s not a curse waiting to destroy everything around me. It’s… helpful. I glance at my hands, flexing my fingers as a faint shimmer of frost ripples over my skin. The air cools, just slightly. Gilfred chirps in warning from his rock, but I smile at him.

“I know,” I whisper. “But maybe this time, it’s not a bad idea.”

I stand, brushing crumbs from my dress, and take a tentative step toward the docks. The fishermen haven’t noticed me yet—they’re too busy arguing with the sun. My heart beats faster as I imagine what could happen if I tried to help.

Please, don’t think I’m a freak. I think as I walk up beside them.