The wind howled across the summit like some ancient beast crying into the sky. Snow blew sideways, stinging their faces. The entire world was white, quiet, cold, endless.
Isabella sat collapsed on the ice, exhausted from the emotional trauma of carving the world's ugliest ice bowl. Her breath came out in foggy bursts. Glimora curled up on her lap like a miserable frozen dumpling. Osiris crouched nearby, watching her with an expression that hovered between confusion, worry, and absolute bewilderment at how dramatic one small woman could be.
After a long, long silence, Osiris cleared his throat.
"What is next?"
Isabella did not move.
Not a flinch.
Not a twitch.
She simply blinked at the snow, dead inside.
After a whole ten seconds, she turned her head very slowly, staring up at him like she was debating whether to stab him or herself first.
"We have to find," she said with a tired, cracked voice, "the hummingbird."
