The wind was there from the beginning, in fact, the wind was there before the beginning, but Jack had never paid it much attention. The first time he really noticed her, as not only an entity, but as a powerful being was within the soft touches and wild tumblings of that night. During his first inexperienced fumblings and slipups as Jack Frost.
Jack was so light that she could pick him up and hold him in her grasp like a snowflake, yet nowhere near as delicate or insubstantial. He was cold, like when she blew from the north over the arctic, but alive and vibrant like a spring breeze. His blue eyes sparkled and disheveled white hair begged the wind to run her fingers through it. So she may have been a little overly excited to touch him when The Man in the Moon first created the winter spirit.
Whooshing up from behind she grabbed him, as he swirled across the frozen lake, tossing him high into the air. He floated there in the clear night sky for a whole six seconds, like a puff of cottonwood seed. Surprise quickly followed by delight flashed across his face before he, most unfortunately, over balanced and plunged towards the ground. Jack came down rather hard in an oak tree next to the lake, hitting multiple branches before landing stomach first on a thick lower limb. The wind cringed, gasping as he crashed into the last branch, images of broken bones and bleeding wounds flashing across her mind, she rushed over to the rumpled form. He'd fallen so unexpectedly she hadn't even thought to catch him. She hadn't meant to be rough. Reaching Jack she ran her hands carefully over his face and hands before flitting under his clothes checking to see if he was hurt. Luckily, Jack just laughed at her exuberance and his own clumsy misstep and continued to smile cheekily as he caught his breath. Ready for another go, Jack let out a shout of laughter as he launched himself off the tree branch into the arms of the wind, aching to fly higher up into the moonlit night.
When Jack woke to the sight of the moon it was amazing. He felt so alive and full of energy, creating beautiful frost patterns just by touch. It was exhilarating when the wind picked him up, throwing him into the sky leaving boundaries behind, but it was devastating when he followed a warm light to a small village, and discovered that no human would acknowledge his existence.
Jack found himself alone in a town full of people. He ran through the streets, increasingly desperate, calling out, trying to catch someone's, anyone's eye. Why would no one look at him? Could they not hear his voice with its frantic edge? Finally, he reached out to prevent a boy from walking by with his friends, but instead of stopping, the boy passed right through Jack like he wasn't even real. It was awful, shattering, it felt like losing a large chunk of himself. What was going on? How was this possible? Tears threaten to overtake his shaking body as more people passed right through him, each tearing off a new piece. It was isolation, made all the more acute by every person that ignored that it was happening. It was physically numbing, losing what you knew to be true, to the icy bands of horrifying realization. He wanted to get away, to hide from this insanity, but he couldn't. He was trapped, watching everything unravel. Just as he ripped his eyes from the nightmare of nonexistence to bury his face in his hands, the wind lifted him up and swept Jack away from the unseeing people to soar over the trees.
The wind knew what it was like never to be seen, to have no one notice you reaching out for them. The wind knew how crushing the loneliness was, but maybe this time, for Jack, she could be there, as a friend in desperate times. She would touch, she would see and always acknowledge the beguiling being that was Jack Frost.
A quick gust took Jack away from the humans who slammed doors in the face of winter and cursed cold touches. She carried him back over the trees to a small clearing near the lake, setting him down gently. Jack sat staring fixedly up at the moon, his lithe form stark on the barren ground of midwinter. In shock, he cried quietly, breath hitching and uneven as it started to snow. The wind reached out in the dark to caress Frost's pale face, whisking away cold tears as the temperature dipped sharply. Trying to soothe Jack's shaking frame the wind whirled, sending the soft snow sliding and stroking all around him. Slowly, Jack seemed to gather himself as his breathing evened out and the shaking stopped. Wiping now frozen tears from his face, he nuzzled into the wind's hand with a small broken smile that made the wind hold her breath. Tired and worn, Jack asked the wind to help him up into a tall tree. Situating himself against the trunk, he silently watched the snow floated down on the town, entrancing frost patterns growing from his unconscious touch. The wind sighed worriedly as she ruffled his white hair. It felt so wrong to see Jack this unhappy, she needed to hear him laugh again and play and be able to spread that joy to everyone he met. So the wind decided then and there, sitting next to him at the end of his first night, that no matter what Jack might need she would be there. Even now over three hundred years later, if you notice a little mischief and a lot of winter fun, of course it's the wind and Jack Frost.