on a first-name basis,

The ground was slippery—it was a white slush, causing each footfall to be more dangerous than the last as Jendayi ascended the steep near-mountainsides. They appeared rocky and firm from a distance, where the gray fog choked the horizon and made it seem as if these were mountains just like the rest. But soon, steady firm rock turned to slippery ice, and these mountains soon turned into glaciers. Too far high to begin a proper descent, and unable to find where she may find flatter ground, Jendayi was subjected simply to following to slim curve of the slope. Above her and below were nothing but steep ice and many feet of drop, and while Jendayi had never been one too afraid of heights, it was more than daunting to see nothing but thick cloud underneath. Golden gaze trained forward, pleading desperately that she may not look down (and subsequently lose her dinner, already churning so upsettingly in her belly).

Eventually, and steadily, the ground began to even out, and the ledge began to take a firmer hold. The ice no longer trembled with the billowing of each cold herald, but here, where the tops of the glaciers were shaved and carved by the wind, it also grew stronger. Strong enough that, in one fell swoop of bitter cold against her bare cheek, it broke free the soft tendrils that kept the flower in her ear and threw it off the side of the mountain, flittering down in a near-peaceful dance, before it disappeared beneath the fog. No! Jendayi’s cursed under her breath, but knew she could not afford to throw herself over the edge for it. So often did she have to replace it anyway, but in a north so imprisoned by the cruel grip of winter, it would undoubtedly force her south to find any hopes of vegetation.

Swelling within her was a mixture of disappointment and defeat, the near-symbolism of her decoration near and dear to her heart—as if losing it was losing a piece of herself, losing the bravery that compelled her onwards. But Jendayi knew better to rely on false hopes that some spirit would throw it back in her path. The longer she was here, the more the sun set behind the horizon, and the colder the windchill grew. The wintertide would not wait for Jendayi’s own selfish battering to pass, and so the alabaster maiden was compelled forward once more, trudging now through a light snow, hoping to find her way off the dreaded mountainpeak.