Prologue
The cold wind blew from the Northern mountains and onto the icy gorge. Several men stabbed saws into the solid water, creating several gaps. A few others chopped at it with pick-axes, while the others continued cutting it with their saws. A flow of frosty water swathed around the ice as they jabbed long ice blocks forward.
A young Sami boy named Kristoff and his baby reindeer Sven sat, dumbfounded and frustrated, by the current of water. Kristoff stabbed his harpoon into the small ice block, only to have it bob back up and the cold water splashed him in the face. Sven reassuringly licked his cheek.
By now the men were halfway through the evening, lifting heavy ice chunks onto dusty old wagons. They sand old Irish songs as they worked and as the crisp, honey-golden sun began to set across the snow-kissed mountains.
Meanwhile, Kristoff gave up and dipped both his hands into the freezing water, around the small ice block, and lifted it up onto his miniature sled. He hopped on the ice block which sat loosely on the sled. He snapped the reigns as Sven darted after the other Sami men swiftly, but the wagons were too strong and too fast for Kristoff and Sven to be able to catch up. So they were left behind to fend for themselves, find away, under the bitter-cold rising moon.
Beware the frozen heart...