A young dragon ran for his life. His fur was white as snow, his manes as blue as the thickest ice. Short but sharp antlers rose from his horse-like head, they also bearing very ice-like coloration. His right foreleg was wounded, a gash on the lower arm and an arrow in his upper arm. The blood dripping from them stained his fur, and marked the deep snow around him, giving an easy trail.
He held it to his chest, hindering his run, forcing him into a near shambling gait. His ears perked as they caught a sound, and the young dragon dared to look back. They were getting close, the baying howls of their dogs striking more fear into his heart than had ever been there before.
Hunters…and they were catching up to him.
The young frost dragon had done nothing wrong, not a single thing. He'd come to Arendelle out of curiosity. He was a beast of ice and magic, and he could "smell" a large amount of ice magic in the fjord-nestled kingdom. He wanted to know where the magic came from, and what was causing it. Frost Dragons like him were never found that far south, not normally.
But his inquisitive nature had done him little good, thus far. All he'd found was human after human, and then…he'd found the men tailing him now. Hunters of the highest caliber, trained to track and kill one thing, and kill it effectively.
Beasts of magic, of wonder, of power.
Beasts…like the young frost dragon.
The farther he ran, the closer the hunters and their hounds seemed to get. The physical exertion was getting too tiring. And if he didn't find a place to rest soon, the strenuous activity would only worsen his injuries. Turning lame was all the frost dragon needed.
He was ripped from his worries by a sudden, loud, and…near bark! The dragon looked to his right. A dog was right at his flank! He could see the foam collecting on its bared lips from the chase he'd given it. It barked at him again, then lunged.
The dragon screamed as the dog attached to his flank, digging in its claws. The screaming only continued as the dog began biting. The immense pain distracted the frost dragon from his run, and he slipped, plowing a deep trench through the snow.
He lay there in pain as the dog detached itself, proceeding to circle the dragon. It snarled and growled, pausing only once to howl, alerting its comrades and masters. Despair was what now filled the frost dragon's heart. He was going to die here…murdered by humans whose only reasoning for his death was that he was a magical being.
Why… what had magic ever done to them…?
For a minute, the dragon thought he'd never know, and closed his eyes, awaiting the end.
Then, his nostrils twitched.
He ignored it, and scrunched his eyes harder.
They began twitching again, then breaking out into full on sniffing. His eyes opened quickly and widely as he recognized the scent.
It was the smell of magic…his magic, ice magic.
The frost dragon scowled, then looked over at the dog that had taken him down. He had to know what was causing this magic. He refused to let his life end this way, without any meaning, nor accomplishment.
He slowly attempted to stand, his wounds giving him trouble. The dog that grounded him resumed growling with renewed fervor, slowly creeping towards him to attack again if necessary. Before the canine even had a chance, the frost dragon threw his head in its direction, and let out a great and long breath.
Everywhere the air from the dragon's lungs landed, a thick layer of frost—nearly ice—accumulated as quick as the blink of an eye. The dog yelped as the cold air hit it, and its body froze over. Now, frosted to the point of frozen, the dog was immobilized.
The frost dragon finally got to his feet, but paused for a moment. He glared at the dog, indulging in the look of terror in its eyes. He'd scared it when he froze it…good…
He looked up as he heard the others getting closer, and started off south, resuming his pained gait. But as he forged on, and the hunters sounded no farther, he looked back in despair. He was still giving them an excellent trail to follow. He had to do something…he couldn't let the men catch him again. They knew better now, they wouldn't be careless like before.
After a few more feet of despair, hope returned to him as his horse-like ears perked. He'd just gotten an idea! The dragon took in as deep a breath as he could. When his lungs were filled to their brim, he lowered his head breathed on the snow before him. A layer of frost accumulated, not taking long before it could bear even his weight without cracking.
The frost dragon lightly put his uninjured paw on the icy layer and pushed. No breaking, at least, not from the amount of pressure he'd put. His ears perked again as he caught sound of the hunters' dogs. They were getting closer, again.
Without any more hesitation, the young dragon laid his belly on the frost and took in another deep breath. Pushing with his hind paws, he began sliding down the stretch of frost he'd created, like a giant penguin. As he neared the end of the previous stretch, the dragon let out his held breath, furthering the frost.
This, along with a couple more held breaths and gradual release of air, allowed him to slide down the snowy ground and between tall, sparse pines with speed. It did not take long before the young frost dragon lost the dogs. Since the dragon's frost appeared just a part of the landscape, and he had gone too fast for dripping blood, his trail had…well…gone cold. For the briefest moments, he would be safe.
The dragon took this opportunity to rest a bit. He was laying prone on the snow, exhausted. The previous running had drained him severely. Coupled with the extensive use of his frost breath to make the 'penguin slide' possible, the poor thing couldn't even stand.
A few minutes passed…then a few more…than an hour or two. His energy was slowly being replenished. Despite how blissful doing nothing was feeling, the young beast knew he'd have to move eventually. If he didn't find a place to hide and to rest, he might as well just go back to the hunters.
Before he could convince his muscles to move, the snapping of a twig convinced one of his ears to twitch. The dragon's eyes snapped open, and he looked around, smelling for whatever was near. Fear rose in his eyes and heart as he recognized the smell.
It was the smell of a man, of a human.
While without the scent of dog like the hunters, the young frost dragon's opinion of men at all had been immeasurably spoiled. He rose to a half-crouch as the perpetrator entered the glade with him.
It was a young man, much younger than the hunters. He had a stocky build, covered in dark, thick clothing lined with fur. A cap covered his head, blonde locks peeking out from underneath. Brown eyes were what fell on the young frost dragon, and he watched as they swelled with confusion. The young man frowned, most of his face hidden by a mask.
"What the…" The young man began.
Before anymore words could be said by the main, the dragon rose to his feet snarled viciously at the young man. He would've roared, but that would risk alerting the hunters or their dogs.
The man's eyes widened as he stepped back, letting out a loud, sharp "Whoa!" at the dragon's display.
The reaction did nothing at all to settle the dragon. In fact, it only frightened him further. Growling, he took in a breath to freeze the man. But a sudden twinge of pain from his forgotten wounds caused the dragon's breath to hitch. Not wanting to waste the air he'd gathered, the dragon proceeded to quickly breathe the man.
The dragon watched with satisfaction as the young man quickly began to stiffen. Taking his chance, the frost dragon quickly limped away. He headed for the mountains nearby as quickly as he could. Upon arrival, the young beast was overjoyed to spot a cave. As he got closer, it appeared to be smaller than he thought. But before his joy could die, he noticed it was just big enough for him, even if it wasn't 'roomy', per say.
But an okay fit was good enough for the physically & emotionally exhausted, wounded frost dragon. He plopped in the snow before the opening and crawled in. He made his way to the very back, discovering the cave was big enough to hold three of him comfortably. He curled up at the very back and began licking the wound on his foreleg.
The arrow he couldn't get to right now. Worse yet, because the young beast resolved to hold as still as possible, he couldn't get to the wound on his flank, as inflicted by the dog. Ah well…he was exhausted…he could figure it out in the morning. And in no time, soft snoring could be heard from the cave.
If the dragon thought he hadn't done anything wrong, Kristoff knew he'd done nothing. He'd just been minding his own business—literally, in fact. He was looking around for pond he'd heard tell of from other ice harvesters. Kristoff wanted to check it out for two reasons: 1) to see if it was viable as a quick, small source of ice. Or 2) if, well…if it would serve as a nice, natural ice rink for him and Anna.
Kristoff had left Sven by a couple of trees, handing him a carrot after coaxing a promise to stay put. Poor guy had pulled Kristoff and their mighty fine new sleigh quite the distance. He wanted to give the loyal reindeer a break.
So much for a break for Kristoff. Whatever that giant, fluffy…thing was, it had intended on nearly freezing him! Luckily, it seemed weak, and only coated him with a thick layer of frost. With some rough persuasion, Kristoff managed to break up the frosting around his joints. Though still stiff, at least now he could move.
Kristoff stumbled back to Sven, who looked up at him. Happily at first, but upon noticing the heavy amount of frost, Sven frowned and let out a bleat of concern. Kristoff shook his head and padded Sven's neck.
"I-it's o-okay, Sven." Kristoff assured his friend, unable to keep his voice steady. The frost from the beast wasn't going away easily, and some of it had actually managed to penetrate his clothing. Then again, the beast had breathed on him, then the frost appeared. Maybe its breath caused the frost, that'd make sense.
Great, just perfect. Kristoff fumed, though not enough to warm himself.
He got in the sleigh, and directed Sven to pull them back to Arendelle. Minutes passed, and the frost showed no signs of melting. Kristoff started getting colder and colder. It was soon getting to be a bit much, even for the hardy Bjorgman himself. He encouraged Sven to go faster, the reindeer not arguing and pouring on more speed, having noted the cold, shivering state of his best friend. They had to get back soon.
If they didn't, Kristoff would freeze to death.