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It is unnatural in its image -- a mimic, and a good one at that, but its wrong, so unbelievably wrong. Its voice is familiar, but it creaks against the ridges of its throat in a way that tells you its not its own. The monster, its real, too real. Painfully tangible. Agonizing to perceive. When it came that first night, twisting and mangled, it wasn't "full." It wasn't complete. No longer a child, and too twisted to ever be described with such juvenile words… and yet, still as young as the boy it used to be. Cracking bones tearing through skin, the skin of a person you once knew -- a sweet, sweet kid, one who didn't deserve to see the horrors of this icy wasteland. A boy changed not once, not twice, but thrice -- mind, flesh, and soul. You've learned to cope with what this land throws at you, how to process the sights and sounds and feelings just enough to keep moving… you've learned to stop thinking about it all too hard. But some images, while you might beat them back in the day, come back at night. And they return with a vengeance.

You bolt upright, heart pounding in pure, unadulterated panic as you're ripped violently from your sleep. Wild eyes dart around the frozen landscape, searching for any threat, searching for It, any sign that something is wrong… and you see nothing, yes, but the cracking, the cracking, it creaks and groans and you can still hear it, so horrifically loud in your mind, and…

You close your eyes. Take a breath.

There's fur beneath your hands -- too short and dense to be that of a wolf's. It's almost like velvet, so perhaps that of seal? Which… means it must be Jornir's. Yes, that's right. You hear soft breathing, 4 mismatched rhythms, all familiar. All calm. Skrimm murmurs in his sleep one -- no, two -- spaces away. And there's warmth ahead, blessed warmth -- a fire.

The cracking isn't danger -- it's just fire. Just the fire. That's all.

Your eyes open once again, and though your heart still races, you find yourself calming down more with each steady breath. Your shoulders untense, jaw slackening as you cast a look around at your friends to confirm your mental checklist… and you're right. Taishen lies on your right, then Queenie, Skrimm, and Barnabos on your left. They all breathe deeply in their slumber, safe and sound -- there's a brief moment of panic at the realization that there's one person missing, but a single look towards the fire assuages your fear-stricken mind as you catch the firbolg's watchful gaze, already trained on you. He quickly looks away just as your eyes meet, and you get the sense that perhaps he had been keeping an eye on you before you had even risen. Its an odd thing to feel comforted by, but still, the attention makes your heart calm a fraction more…

Just… not enough to sleep again. Not quite yet.

You sigh, disentangling yourself from the heat seeking arms of your friends, and move towards the fire -- towards the one man still awake.

The snow crunches dully beneath your boots as you approach, and Jornir, still on watch for this hour of the night, moves his walking stick to clear a space beside him -- It's a small gesture, but one that you hold close to your chest as you take your place beside him. You're not quite sure what you expect from the proximity. Perhaps you don't expect anything at all. But his presence is more than enough for your distraught mind as you simply sit in silence together and let the nightmare fade away. Its strange, how quickly the fear lessens -- in the past, nightmares have always clung to you with a certain bloodthirsty vigor, digging its claws into your head to make the pain last as long as possible. But whether the whole routine is just starting to get old, or whether the stillness of the night is pushing the visions away, you find that tonight the gory scenes are fading faster than your mind can cling to. A rare blessing, and one you're not keen on taking for granted.

The time passes quietly, simply watching the way the fire dances -- no matter how much snow falls around you, the fire burns bright, like a little beacon of life in this dreary, barren island. You never thought there would come a time where you yearn for such a simple thing as color, but the fire's bright orange hue is nothing short of magical in this moment. Its a stark contrast to the blindingly white monochromatic landscape you've been subjected to these past few weeks, and it brings with it a warmth that goes beyond its natural heat.

All in all, the scene is… peaceful. You look up, resisting the urge to scowl at the snowflakes floating around your camp -- in another life you suppose you'd have more of an appreciation for the falling snow around you, and you try to tap into that nearly-buried awe within you, just to have that little extra semblance of normalcy. Its not easy, and you struggle to muster up any real positivity that doesn't feel hollow -- it's hard to find the joy it brought you a few months ago, knowing how much pain and danger the cold has put all of you through recently. But still -- Jornir's presence, though quiet, makes you feel safer. More at home. You count his breaths as the minutes tick onwards, slow and deep -- the heat of his breath creates little wisps of steam with every exhale, although if he seems bothered by the cold tonight, it doesn't show.

You're not sure what's drawn you to him in these short few months together, but more and more you've found yourself by his side in times of need… and in the few moments of joy you've experienced in this horrid land, he's always been a constant. Its been little things -- the remembrance of your likes and dislikes; the sharing of stories in the dead of night; his quiet huff of laughter, barely heard over the roaring wind… in a place like this, adoration takes a different form, but it blooms bright and beautiful among the ice regardless. The bond you share, though unnamed, is one of few words, but every breath he takes is worth a million monologues from the mouth of another.

And while its been exhausting, you're thankful for the brisk pace you've all set across the landscape. In this race against Winter, you thankfully seem to be ahead of the most dreadful of cold snaps… but as far ahead as you may be, its not enough to escape the natural chill of the landscape. A particularly strong gust of wild passes you by, and you can't help the shiver that wracks your body as the chill reaches you.

Wordlessly, the firbolg lifts the corner of his cloak as an unspoken offer to move closer -- an offer you accept without a second thought.

And oh, how warm he is. You lean your head on his shoulder -- still utterly dwarfed, even when sitting -- and let your heart drink deeply from the warmth he exudes. His fur is softer than you would have thought -- you'd be hard-pressed to admit that it's been a curiosity of yours for a while now, although again, you'd never admit it -- and you find yourself reveling in the way it gently brushes against your exposed skin. He wraps his arm around your own shoulder, draping half of his cloak over you, before squeezing your shoulder. And… it seems fond. Is fond, unmistakably so. It draws a sigh of contentment from your lips, the tender gesture coaxing you into a state of relaxation -- an emotion you had almost thought was lost to you -- as you let yourself fall into him.

And when he speaks, it's low -- his voice rumbles in his chest, deep and soothing:

"All will be as it is meant to."

His hand slowly, almost shyly, moves up and down your bicep as he says it, and the whole scene brings a soft, sort of wry, smile to your face. While on the ice, you've often wondered if you all would have found each other if not for this grand quest. If you would have stuck together and gotten this close if not for the strings of Fate pulling you all into these frigid wastes. You're not sure if you ever really believed in such things so strongly before the wreck, but after all you've seen, its hard to avoid the reality that perhaps there is some grander, cosmic reason for it all. Truth be told, the things you've all experienced in this land are nearly beyond comprehension -- wicked and painful, its hard to imagine any loving God choosing to send their creation here. You don't claim to understand the divine, and yet, perhaps there is a comfort in knowing that maybe, just maybe, there's a reason. That you're serving some greater purpose beyond yourself.

You cast a look upwards at Jornir, only to find him already gazing down at you. His eyes hold equal parts honesty and fondness, and while you don't share the prophetic visions of the firbolg, you do know one thing -- you trust him. Your smile relaxes into something more content, more affectionate, as you meet his gaze, and nod.

The night passes on without incident -- not one howl pierces through the tranquility, and no monsters come in the dark. Its just you and Jornir. The divine works in mysterious ways, and you can't say you fully understand why its brought you all in particular to these lands -- but, if nothing else, it's brought you to him. And that's enough to get you through it all.