Tiny opened her curtains to find that Treetops had been wrapped in the softest white eiderdown. A kaleidoscope of snowflakes glinted on the window pane, and the thermometer complained of single digits. She scurried outside to the mailbox—the air was sharp and still, yet she could hear the sweet tinkling of wind-chimes. She followed the sound which led her to the leafless maple tree, under which sat a boy, whimpering miserably.
“Hello, are you ok? I’m Tiny. What is your name?” she whispered.
He turned to stare at her with cold, cruel eyes, “I am Isa, son of Winter. Now stay away from me! Or else. . .” As he continued, ice crystals floated slowly from his mouth, before clattering to the ground.
“I can break bones and fell mighty giants
I can stop animals in their tracks
I can slow time and stop a life forming
Send shivers through the earth till she cracks.”
“That’s impressive,” replied Tiny, “But it does sound quite lonely, if you don’t mind me saying.”
The ice child hung his head in shame. Two tear-shaped icicles fell from his eyes, and froze instantly to his cheeks.
“I am lonely. Everything I touch turns to ice. I have so many dreams! Playing with friends, sitting on a beach, and drinking a Shirley Temple. I hear they’re quite nice.”
“They are delicious,” she said gently, feeling sorry for the boy. She thought of all the things she enjoyed about winter. Admittedly, the list was short. But an idea began to form. . .
“Isa, how would you like to work at the Winter Carnival this weekend? You could freeze the skating-pond, help make snow-cones, and even supervise the ice-sculptures. You’ll be the star of the show!”
Isa thought about it, and his mouth cracked into a smile. “I would like that,” he said, “My payment will be one Shirley Temple. Frozen of course.” Tiny beamed. It was going to be the coolest Winter Carnival Treetops had even seen.