It had been a month since the boy and his companions had left.
The Pigmask couldn't remember anything between passing out in the bitterly cold snow and waking up in this strange house. He had been assigned to scout Snowtop Mountain, to confirm the location of the Needle, and those troublesome kids, while he was at it. But the journey was too tough, the freezing air too piercing, he couldn't go on, couldn't make it, couldn't go back, it was so icy cold.
The few decorations were frilly, gaudy and arranged very neatly, though the bed had wrinkled from use. A small table had fancy bottles of perfume and make-up all over it, dusty and untouched aside from his curious fingerprints. And, above all, the building was a giant, swirling pink shell, covered with ice that made it look like some kind of fancy cake.
He knew that it was a Magypsy, Lydia, who had saved him. All the commanders had told them was that they guarded the Needles, had powerful PSI abilities and were girly transvestites, which didn't tell him much, but at least explained the décor. It was all rather disturbing to him, but although the Pig Army's ways are those of destruction, he wouldn't mess with anything.
He barely knew him at all. He'd been woken up with a start by some loud thuds and the Pigmask anthem blaring away. He wanted to join his comrades, but he was still quite lethargic and ill, and Lydia insisted that he stay in. The Magypsy's appearance was a bit of a shock - mostly bald, what little hair he had was bright pink, and his winter coat was too fluffy, too girly, too weird.
The Magypsy didn't stay for too long, exiting the back door (with a big heart painted on it), perhaps to check everyone was okay and none of the rabbits had been caught in the crossfire. By the time the Pigmask felt reasonably well enough to get up, the group had defeated a chimera (one of their toughest, by the sounds of it), the Magypsy was flickering away, and he barely caught the end of their conversation.
Leaning back in the chair and stroking a bunny's soft, snow-white fur, almost without thinking, it was easy for his mind to wander off. What kind of person was Lydia, what was his life like, here? He would've died in the spot he collapsed in if the Magypsy hadn't rescued him, but he must've recognised the Pig Mask uniform and what it stood for. Why would he save a person like him, unlikable and greedy, and a stranger, no less?
He couldn't imagine dying at the drop of a needle. In a way, his comrades and that blonde kid have been killing each and every one of Lydia's brethren, needle by needle, and the Magypsy had probably been nothing but hospitable to everyone. He'd let himself fade away, although he clearly loved his rabbits dearly. The Pigmask decided to look after the bunnies, out of respect and to make them even. They had seemed a bit lost too, but somehow quickly warmed up to him, which made him feel oddly happy but solemn at the same time.
Visiting the former site of the needle made him emotional, thoughts and questions swirling through his head like snow. He could almost think that nothing had ever changed, all the marks and footprints long gone to the everlasting white. A bunny in his arms, the Pigmask placed a lone winter flower in front of the small, smoking crater, and returned to the warmth of the house.
He had barely known the Magypsy at all.