Michael hiked over the crisp snow, wrapping his brown cloak over him tightly. His breath trailed into the air each time he breathed, and he shivered.
He'd spent that afternoon out in the woods again, moving the snow in whirlwinds and crafting icicles that rose up from the ground. It had all been for a girl, who he didn't even care to remember her name. He'd met her earlier that morning in the town square when he went out to buy some apples. She was beautiful; long, brown hair, large hazel eyes. He told himself not to carry away, like he'd done all the times before, and to try and get to know her. Maybe she was the one, he thought. He'd given up his adventures when winter settled in. Cold and homeless, he found a small town where the people were kind and spent all his gold on a beaten down shack near the woods. It would need repairing, and until he could find someone to seal the holes he stayed at the inn.
He and the girl got talking, and before he knew it he was out in the woods with her. He couldn't remember why, but he could recall trying to impress her with his magic abilities. He played around with the ice and snow, turning every few seconds to hear her cheer and clap. At one point she td him to take his shirt off; he did, trying to seem cool and powerful while wielding two levitating spikes of ice. But when he turned around she was giggling, and had left with his tunic. Luckily he'd brought a warm, cotton cloak, but he was far from the village and it would take a bit of time to get back.
His arms, hidden inside his cloak, brushed against his cold body and he squinted. A small sprinkle of snowfall had begun to fall around the sparse, dead trees. The sky was cloudy but he could tell it was getting near sunset. A few lights lit up ahead, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Ten minutes of slow shuffling later he finally made it to the village of Snowfall, which was quite aptly named, he thought. His feet were numb and his arms as well. His ears hurt, his face was red, and snow had fallen like powder over his black hair. He wandered past his shack, the holes in the wall painfully obvious and imposingly large. A few people greeted him as he made his way to the inn.
When he stepped inside the heat from the fire burned at his freezing skin, but it felt wonderful. He sat at the innkeeper's table.
"You look cold," the balding man said. "Spent the whole day outside again, have you?"
Michael sighed. "Yeah," he admitted. He peeled open his cloak revealing his bare chest. "This time she got away with my tunic, too. It's twice as long and twice as cold coming back when you're naked in the snow."
The bartender laughed heartily. Out if anyone, he was Michaels closest friend, despite being a middle aged man who got drunk more than daily.
"Oh, I can bet that's true. Who was she?" He asked. Michael shook his head. "I can't remember her name."
The innkeeper poured him a big mug full of maple syrup mead. "You know, I'm sure it'll turn out great. You haven't gotten yer house set, have you?" Michael shook his head.
"Well, you can always take the back room. Even when you get all set in."
Michael, smiled, thanked the man, and took his mug to a log chair in front of the fire. He took his little vile of water and opened it, pulling the water out and holding it in a ball in the air. It slowly began to crystallize until a shell of ice formed around the water inside. He levitated it over near the fire and tried to do something he'd been experimenting with before. As it began go melt, he tried to keep it frozen solid. Of course, after a few minutes most of it had melted and dripped into the fire. Only a small lump of moist ice remained. He sighed, pulling it back and waiting for it to thaw until he could store it in his vile again.
He realized with a chortle of self pity that he was down another shirt.
