The people of the frozen wastes spoke little outside of their buildings. Strong winds roaring across the tundras and glaciers made it difficult to hear one another. As a result, “wasted on the wind” became a commonly used phrase amongst the tribes of the wastes, and even as far down as the northern stretches of both Talnorel and Gavundar, for words that did not need speaking.

As the midnight sun dipped as closely to the horizon as it would for the next month, the men and women of a small settlement shouted loudly enough that not a single syllable would be wasted.

“Children to the long house!”

“Fires. Out!”

“Shore up walls!”

“Weapons! Hold gate!”

The instructions were short and to the point to ensure understanding and compliance. The figures running around the village giving and receiving the commands could not be discerned in any way. Intense musculature and layers and layers of fur coats and thick scarves hid age and gender. Meanwhile, everyone was both shouting orders and following them, making leadership impossible to pinpoint. The settlement was in a dangerous social position just before a calamity where everyone was taking responsibilities, but abandoning them as quickly as possible, their own panic was urging them to do everything and nothing at once.

The town’s wall was made of sand colored pine wood that had been dragged for days across the tundra, carved into spikes, and studded with blades before being lifted vertically to bulwark the settlement. The warriors were slamming additional logs onto the inside of the wall on either side of the gate where another team was running massive, spiked chains onto the cross boards to secure it the town’s sole entrance.

The several warriors toiling made the work go quickly, and once it was complete, the warriors then moved immediately to equip themselves. Huge metal hooks, barbed spears, and ball-headed warhammers were passed around as the mob massed at the gate.

The wind continued to roar, the warriors’ breath steaming and melting flakes of falling snow as they waited for the attack to begin.

Then the snowflakes suddenly stopped moving. Despite the bitter wind, they did not move from left to right, nor did they fall to the ground. They simply hovered and the warriors eyed them with horror. One looked to her allies and muttered “The Avalanche is here.”

The already frigid temperature began to plummet as frost audibly crept across the massive chains on the gate, crackling and popping as fractal patterns grew across the steel, painting it a cobalt color. The warriors gripped their weapons till it hurt as they watched.

The frost was sprinting toward the center of the chains from both ends of the gate. Just before the two fronts of frost on the metal met, the gate exploded inward with a sudden rush of frigid wind, splinters of wood, chips of steel, and shards of ice. The warriors were well protected under their coats and leathers, but the shock of the eruption flinched them anyway. The moment of confusion sealed their fates as the attackers rushed in.

They were clad in leather armor padded with light colored bronze. Bronze helmets decorated with scrimshaw tusks, horns, or spikes gave them a monstrous visage, while the double-headed axes, claymores, and serrated hunting blades gave the beastly personages their claws. The attackers met the defenders with battlecries and splashes of blood.

Behind the initial wave, the Avalanche strolled slowly into the settlement. Her only armored adornments were a dark colored, studded leather chestpiece. Otherwise, she wore thick woolen pants and fur boots. A fur lined cloak hung on her shoulders, and unlike her bloodthirsty allies, she went without a helmet. The woman’s hair, so blonde it was nearly white and accented gently with light blue streaks, was intricately braided halfway down her back.

While her army roared into the hovering snowflakes, stomped through the packed snow, and slashed through the defending townspeople, the Avalanche walked assuredly to the longhouse, one hand free, the other carrying a sharp woodcutting axe. One of the defenders came running at her, his sword overhead. She did not look in his direction at all as she waved her free hand toward him.

The snow froze into solid ice just under his falling foot. The slick surface and change of height sent the defender crashing to the ground and before he could pull himself back up, another attacker was on him. The blood froze to the ice slick as soon as the splash fell and the Avalanche continued her approach to the longhouse, ignoring the agonized cries of the man she left for dead.

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A second defender ran up to intercept the Avalanche as she approached the central building. The woman was less forgiving this time. The defender let loose a great battlecry, hefting his warhammer high, and the Avalanche struck quickly and decisively with her axe. The battle cry became a gurgling scream of pain. The Avalanche withdrew her axe and the gore that followed the blade froze solid before it landed.

Finally, she reached the longhouse with no more soon-to-be corpses in her way. The Avalanche reached out to its large door of strung-together planks and gave it a light push. The door swung silently on its counterweight and the sudden gust of air blew snowflakes from the ground into the large, open chamber. A firepit in the center was smouldering, but offering no light or heat.

Before stepping into the longhouse, the Avalanche held up her open palm and blew a steamy breath. The moisture from her breath crystallized instantly, growing into a small gemstone-like cluster of ice. Her cobalt-colored eyes flashed slightly and the crystal began to glow bright enough to give the entire longhouse a soft, teal glow.

Her eyes scanned the longhouse and fell suddenly on something at the far end of the fire pit. Her look of curiosity transformed to soft concern as she stepped into the building.

“Hello there,” she said softly. “Is everyone okay?”

The children huddled, shivering in horror. Their trembling rattled the manacles and shackles on their limbs and the chains that bound them to one another.

“Do you understand me?” the Avalanche asked as she came closer, stopping at the edge of the fire pit to ensure the children had ample distance. A few of the children nodded to her in response, fear still filling their eyes.

“Is anyone hurt?” she asked the group. A young boy in the front looked at the other children, then back to the Avalanche. After a concerned moment he shook his head no. “Well then I’m going to step around the fire pit and get you out of those chains, okay?”

The boy paused for a long second again then nodded.

“How long have you been missing?” the Avalanche asked as she walked. While not breaking eye contact, she crouched down to set the glowing cluster of ice on the edge of the fire pit and hung her axe on her belt.

The boy thought for a moment, then finally shrugged.

“Well, don’t worry. We’re here to help you all, okay?” The boy nodded again as the Avalanche held out her hand to the shackles. “It will be a little cold, alright? Let me know if anything hurts, but I’m sure you can tough it out.” She gave the boy a playful punch and he reflexively grinned and held his shackles up. Frost danced across the locking mechanisms of the shackles before there was a small pop and the shackles broke open.

“There! Cracking just like an egg, huh?” The boy looked up, his lip quivering and his eyes watering. Then, one by one, the other children came to the Avalanche, offering their bonds as well. One by one she broke the chains, opened the shackles, and undid the manacles.

The Avalanche smiled as the children muttered their thank yous and began to tear up. One little girl who was among the first to be freed tapped her on the shoulder as she tended to another, younger girl.

“What’s your name?” she asked gently.

The Avalanche grinned widely. “I am Petra.” The younger girl went wide eyed as her shackles popped open.

“Winter’s Daughter?” the little girl asked in awe.

Petra responded simply by holding the frozen shackles up, and dropping them to the stone floor. The impact cracked the metal.

“I don’t think you are,” the older girl said, arms on her hips.

“And why not?” Petra asked, mimicking the young lady’s pose.

“Because I think you would have brought us presents if you were.”

There was a chilly wind as the longhouse door opened again. Petra instantly pushed the older and younger girls behind her back, and laid a hand on an axe, but the man in the doorway was one of hers. He pulled his helmet off, eyes red and puffy with tears.

“Lana?” he called into the room.

The younger girl shrieked with joy. “Daddy!” she cried, sprinting across the empty room and gleefully springing into her father’s open arms.

Petra looked back at the other children to see the older girl, mouth agape. Petra winked and crossed to Lana’s father. His daughter was sitting in the crook of his arm and nuzzling his beard, giggling.

“How is it outside?”

The man sniffed back joyful tears, tussling his daughter’s hair. “A couple holdouts. They tried to set fire to the longhouse. That’s how we found you in the fight.”

“Bastards,” Petra hissed. She turned to the children, projecting a whisper to them. “Alright boys and girls. Can you do Petra a solid favor and stay here where it is safe?”

The children all nodded and muttered affirmatives as she turned to the father again.

“Keep them safe, please,” she urged.

“As you wish, Ymirstotir.”

She removed her axe from its loop on her belt, flicked a slushy glob of blood from the sharp edge, and pushed her way back out into the cold that only she could not feel.