The world itself was shaking. A great rumble was tearing it apart. It was tearing him apart.

Images of fire and brimstone danced in the darkness before his eyes. Great, red-hot serpents slithering around, until everything was filled with burning scales.

He desperately wished it would be over, but the snakes were always there.

There was a fierce pounding inside his head; it hurt, breathing hurt. Thinking was a lost battle. He was surrounded by oppressive heat, he could feel it sizzling his back and his limbs and his head. There was nothing to do about it, he couldn't move.

Then Jack felt something tickling his cheek; it was cold and gentle and, more please?

Something furry and warm brushed against his neck, and Jack would have been irked at the additional heat, but Bunny had come again, and he couldn't mind Bunny being here.

Then there came a whole lot more fur and warmth pressing against the crook of his neck, against the underside of his jaw.

It stayed there and didn't move any more.

Jack almost groaned. C'mon Bunny, what was he waiting for? He should try to move Jack away from this oppressive heat, or at least peel his face off the mud. It was, like, basic etiquette to lift someone from the mud they had face-planted in. Didn't Bunny know that?

Apparently he didn't.

Or maybe he was waiting for something, because the fur remained resting against his neck. Jack thought that this, at least, was nice.

At some point the burning sensation on his back became all-consuming, and Jack was unable to focus on anything else. His head was swimming so badly that everything was sent spinning– he couldn't tell up from down anymore; couldn't tell where he was, what was happening to him. Could barely breathe.

His thoughts eventually melted away into the heat.

…

…Giant serpent mouths opened wide to reveal long fangs and white-hot throats, and they lunged straight at him. They didn't quite get him; he kept slipping just out of reach at the last possible moment, but he could not move his limbs, could not do anything, and the snakes were always so close–

–so close–

Don't look–

…the violent impact of their strikes was jostling him repeatedly to the bone, his sight greying out and darkening with each blow; always taking too long to return, leaving Jack to spend unbearably terrifying time in blind uncertainty, surrounded by horrible noise and smothering warmth. And when his sight returned he still found himself unable to do anything; he couldn't think, couldn't control his flight path, he couldn't tell if he was hurled by the snakes or carried by the wind, he couldn't even tell whether he was holding his staff or not. His limbs felt leaden and limp and useless, and he couldn't stop this, the snakes would get him; any moment now, any moment now, now–

The image was replaced by pitch black tunnels and Jack was grateful for the change until he spent too much time running in the darkness, lost and searching, and he came to desperately wish for a respite that just wouldn't come. Terror rose and peaked as he knew a red glow and a fierce gale would find him, it was only a matter of time...

It faded away to his hesitant relief, and when next he could see, it was inhumanly sharp teeth dripping with blood, approaching to pierce and tear him apart. He couldn't move.

They sank deep and his stomach hurt, and he couldn't distract himself with anything else, he was forced to go through this–

A different image came, indistinct but disturbing, full of noise and hatred– he futilely sought to get away; the image lingered until he was consumed by it– then it changed again…

Jack found himself floating in a dark place of turbulence; he tried, wanted, desperately to relax in it somehow.

But he kept sinking deeper and deeper into the black mess of vicious currents.

…Until he got lost in them.

…

There was a great weight on his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. There were warm hands holding him against burning stone, and that hurt! He wanted to squirm, to scream, but his limbs were heavy and unmoving, and he couldn't breathe–

He fleetingly found himself in a different, quieter world of burning sunlight, and he slipped right away again.

There was flesh on pudgy arms, melting away. Red and black sizzling against a murky background. His whole world consisted of chunks of flesh burning.

It made him sick. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that he didn't mean for this, it was just a game of tag, she didn't have to play, she didn't have to follow, why didn't she just…

The mass of melting flesh shushed him and enveloped him in a suffocating hold; the heat consumed him and he started to melt as well…

Jack came to briefly, face scrunched up with worry and bile rising in his throat. He wasn't sure where he was or what was going on; he wanted to scream because why couldn't it just be over, but the next moment he was gagging as the taste of vomit filled his mouth. His stomach didn't have much to bring up though, nor the ability to really heave, and soon Jack found himself pressing his face against a slightly cooler something, dazed and desperately thirsty. He savored the cool feeling against his dry skin and tried to press harder; he hadn't realized how much his eyes were burning. He needed something cold against them, he needed…

He faded before he could think of much else.

More images came; some nightmares, some memories, some of the waking world, all mixed up. Sometimes he lay in a frozen field, eating snow; then his head was heavy and he tasted ash in his mouth and he couldn't discern his surroundings. He was at some point sure he was napping in some village in Andes; the next moment he thought he was in Bunny's island, surrounded by heat and buzzing insects. He was momentarily cowering inside the dark tunnels; then he was frantically drinking water from a cool mountain spring.

Jack couldn't discern one from the other. He didn't know where he was.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed when he, at some point, thought himself slightly more aware.

He still felt very sick and burning and desperately thirsty, and weak. He couldn't lift his limbs, his stomach was throbbing with pain, and he tasted ash in his mouth. He kept his eyes closed as afterimages of fiery serpents and terrible smoke swam behind his pounding forehead, and he sighed in distress. Would have squirmed if he had the energy to do so.

Yet as more time passed, the thundering roars in his mind were gradually getting muted, giving way to… the soft rustling of leaves in the wind? Crickets? …Something, anyway. He didn't trust his senses at this point.

His eyes fluttered half-open, and all that greeted him was darkness —not the suffocating darkness of the tunnels, though. There was a cool breeze caressing his nape and back, and Jack breathed it in hungrily in between weak coughs; he needed the coolness. He could tell he was out in the open, and it was probably night.

Jack slowly began to relax. His eyelids, heavy and tired, struggled to close against burning eyes. He really wished to shut them at this point, but he didn't want to face the fire and monsters that lurked in the corners of his mind.

He focused on his surroundings instead, taking assurance by the lack or rumbles and hisses.

There was something pressed against his face, something that felt rough and grainy. He realized he was lying face-down. The parts of his body that weren't outright gripped in a bone-deep pain were heavy and unmoving instead; all of his limbs were numb and stiff. He wasn't comfortable but it wasn't as if he could move to change that.

…And that was soil. The stuff against his face was soil. He was lying on the ground; he could feel stones and grass and dry leaves digging into his skin.

...Ugh. He knew this would turn boring very soon.

Whenever he got sick or felt like he was close to passing out for whatever reason, Jack would seek a place with a grand view to crash out on. It could be anything: a blooming meadow, a church roof towering over village houses, a cliff overlooking a forested valley, the corner of a busy town square, a rooftop in front of docks bursting with ships coming from faraway places… Even any place with a clear view of the sky would do. That way, he could stare at something pleasant in between sleep during those times when he was too weak to get up and have fun himself.

He'd lose himself in beautiful nature sceneries; stargaze for hours; enjoy the sight of people milling around, going about their daily business; daydream about their families and everyday lives, plan his next escapades and future adventures…

…and now he was stuck staring at lumps of soil. Great.

Jack huffed in annoyance. If he was at least face up he'd get a good view of the sky. He briefly contemplated turning on his back, but he was literally not strong enough to achieve such a feat and besides, he suspected his back was badly burned from all the time he spent lying on it inside the burning tunnels.

He still didn't want to go back to sleep though, so he tried to focus on the peaceful nature sounds. And come morning, he'd challenge himself to find something fascinating in the most boring substance in the world: dirt.

…Well, he liked challenges. And he felt like he had better chances in succeeding than most, anyway.

Jack listened to the soft chirping of crickets, to the gentle woosh of the wind, to the faint rustle of leaves…

His eyes closed of their own accord minutes later.

He was smashed against stone walls in complete darkness. He was so scared, he actually felt relief when he returned to himself, lying face-down and aching, and struggling to breathe through a stinging throat.

He fought to stay awake this time; the nightmares were so persistent it was beginning to get annoying.

His struggles didn't last for very long; he slipped away again without realizing. He felt cool breezes alternating with burning heat. Shapes, feelings, images; some soothing, some distressing, and Jack couldn't pick up which ones were real. Were those warm touches, always appearing whenever the heat became stifling, the Old Hag restraining him or were they Bunny's furry paws? Was he back in the Old Hag's cave? Was he safe on his lake? Was he inside the mountain? Was he? Was he…

"–then you can watch."

Jack dragged himself out of the darkness with a start. Well, because he could still barely move, it was more like a twitch.

The phrase seemed to echo in his ears, and he wasn't sure if he had actually heard it or not. The boy pressed his face down the soil, breaths shallow and hard, wishing he could hide somehow.

He strained to listen, waiting to hear approaching footsteps; a cackle. A sharp intake of breath. A burning exhale against his nape. A hand with sharp nails touching his shoulder–

Quivering, he could only wait for the inevitable.

After some time passed, Jack began to realize that the "inevitable" probably wasn't about to happen. He was still lying face down on the ground in a peaceful place —he was surrounded only by sweet birdsong and a soft breeze; nothing else.

The Old Hag wasn't here. It was just a dream.

She wasn't here. He was okay. He was still alive.

Jack attempted to take deep, calming breaths past the burning of his throat. He tried to reassure himself that he was okay, that he was getting stronger each time he woke up, that he would soon be able to–

…Actually, the thought occurred to him that if he was still alive and basically recovering this whole time —however long it'd been— it could only mean that he was somewhere safe: the Old Hag could still be stuck deep inside the mountain, clawing her way out with burnt hands, or she could be dead, but the snakes would have gotten him. And if the Old Hag had somehow gotten out of the volcano in time to spirit him away from the snakes and into some hideout, he definitely wouldn't be feeling better and better every time he woke up.

No, he was somewhere faraway, somewhere safe.

…Bunny had gotten him out, Jack realized, and his eyes fluttered close at the memory of fur brushing against his neck, checking for a pulse; of the distant sensation of solid warmth amidst the vicious, burning haze he was lost in.

Tension began to leave his body, breaths gradually becoming easier and lighter.

Bunny had come again, and had transported him somewhere safe; to a nice place full of birds and insects and beautiful sunlight. Somewhere bright and warm–

…Crap, he really was in Bunny's tropical island again, wasn't he?

Jack groaned. That fluffy moron! Could he not understand that Jack wanted to be somewhere cold right now? Was that so hard to guess? First he put Jack face down so he could gaze at dirt infinitely, and now this?

But, well, he already knew Bun-bun wasn't very smart; no one who disliked snow days could be a genius. As soon as he was back on his feet, Jack would turn Bunny into a snowman to return the favor. If he was still mummified from the Old Hag's attack Jack would freeze the bandages solid and construct a four-story snowman on top of him.

Snickering and already feeling miles better, Jack turned his head to the side; partly to stare at something other than dirt, and mainly to look for potential pranking material.

He saw a tree.

It was a nice tree. Well, it was not vibrantly green; its leaves had a dull silvery quality instead. It possessed a wide canopy though, and everything around it seemed dipped in magnificent shade.

Jack gazed at it longingly. The air would be so cool beneath that tree. What he'd give it to be under it right now…!

His fingers twitched, trying to close around a staff that wasn't there.

He couldn't do much else.

He kept staring at the tree, savoring the way the leaves fluttered in the wind, imagining lying below it, as the sunlight grew stronger. The air was getting progressively warmer, and Jack found he could not stand it. He retched once more, the motion tearing painfully at his injured stomach. He tried to sleep, but the spinning in his head overwhelmed him until he couldn't discern his surroundings anymore.

He slipped in and out of consciousness as the heat became more and more suffocating, until at some point he found himself glaring at the tree through bleary, burning eyes. It was as if he was drowning in a furnace; he could hardly breathe from the smothering sensation around his neck. The boy had the indistinct memory of warm fur brushing against his skin sometime through the haze, but he didn't feel particularly thankful for that at the moment.

The midday sun was setting back his recovery, Jack could tell that.

He sure as hell wasn't going to wait around for Bunny's egg-sized brain to come to the obvious conclusion, though. He was going to get himself to that tree.

He knew that the longer he waited the more difficult it would become. He had to act now.

Jack took deep breaths, trying not to cough, as he contemplated getting himself there.

…He could do it. The tree was super close. Just a few steps away, for someone upright and walking.

Jack flexed fingers and toes until feeling started to return to them. He tested his limbs; the muscles quivered with the effort of moving, but Jack was relieved to see they could respond, however minutely. Okay, he could totally do this.

One last deep breath. Mentally steeling himself, Jack (also mentally) instructed his stomach to behave, and his arms and legs to showcase their excellent upbringing, and promptly pushed with all his force against the ground to sit up.

He was interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek, and the next moment something darted away from his neck and fled towards a bush. Before Jack could recover, another previously unnoticed warm weight disappeared from between his knees; one more from his left armpit. He only had time to glimpse a small, furry silhouette before it disappeared in the foliage.

Jack stared, half-leaning on an elbow, unable to think, to see; then he realized:

They were small animals nestling in the crooks of his body; it was something that happened sometimes if he fell asleep in a very warm place: animals would burrow in the curves of his limbs, seeking relief from the heat. This was what had happened now.

Sure enough, his brain finally caught up with what his eyes had seen and informed him that what he had glimpsed fleeing from his neck was a fox; a weasel from his knees. Who-knows-what the one from his armpit was, but it must have been tiny. A squirrel, at most.

The boy raised his head to look around.

He was still on the foothills of that volcano. It towered above him, huge and menacing, large portions of the slope burnt black. Rivers of cold, solid grey lava coiled downwards, looking like abandoned snakeskins. His insides churned unpleasantly, breath hitching, when he noticed that one such snakeskin lay extremely close, just a dozen metres away. It passed by him without turning and went on downwards, as if it simply hadn't noticed him. Everything around it was burnt, and everything all over the place was covered by a thick layer of ash: the trees, the grass, the soil–

Jack dropped his gaze to see his hands and sleeves also coated in grey; the fallen cinders had blanketed him whole, the place where his head and limbs had been resting being the only clear ground.

He had never left the mountain.

Bunny had never come. It had only ever been small animals and nightmares.

Jack's face was scrunching up with misery, and he didn't know why.

He should be happy.

He had somehow, inexplicably, miraculously, survived the snakes' rampage: that was no small thing. He shouldn't be ungrateful; he was in fact very lucky.

And fuzzy little animals cuddling with him in his sleep was adorable, and certainly one of the best perks of being super-cold all the time. He always got ecstatic whenever that happened!

So Jack could not explain the hollowness that ate into his chest, scraping his insides raw. He didn't understand why he felt like lying down and giving up when he was so hyped about going underneath the tree moments before. He couldn't tell why he suddenly felt ten times sicker than before. He didn't know why breathing was so difficult all of a sudden.

This was stupid. He always got in all sorts of trouble, escaped alive and well and happy. This was no different. He should pull himself together and get up and to that tree now.

Jack's arms gave out and he fell back against the ground, a small cloud of ash rising up from the abrupt movement. He inevitably inhaled the grey dust and started coughing, the motion causing his stomach to throb with pain. Was it really hurting that much before? He hadn't noticed…

He was probably just really hurt, and that's why he felt this lousy.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, attempting to steady his breathing, and clung to that line of thought.

Yes, of course, that made sense. After all, it was stupid to expect Bu–

…It was stupid.

And he certainly wasn't going to get worked up about something stupid.

More steady breaths; he was getting the hang of this.

"Who else would have you?"

"No!" Jack snarled at the memory, flinching violently. That's not how it works! It doesn't matter!

It was just a stupid thought he had while he was delusional from the heat, anyway! He hadn't even left any snow to mark his position, and without snow B–

Without snow he wouldn't be found.

So that was that.

It didn't mean anything.

This idea would have never even crossed his mind if he had been thinking with a clear head.

Jack forced himself to take more deep breaths; he inevitably inhaled more ash, with led to coughs burning through his throat, his whole body shaking with the effort.

Okay, he thought tiredly after the coughing fit died down, trying to think past the desperate need for water. Okay. He should… he should just quiet down for awhile. Stay calm; until he managed to sit up and lift his face off the ash, at least. Nothing bad had happened to him, after all. It was fine. It didn't mean anything.

…What this whole adventure did prove was that his healing ability was pretty great, actually, Jack thought to himself. He could tell that the midday heat had been taking a toll on him, reversing the healing achieved during the cool nights; yet the end result was still a gradual recovery, despite the unfavorable environment.

And that was that.

Jack opened his eyes slowly; it was again getting harder and harder to think. He had been startled wide awake by animals leaping off him but the adrenaline was leaving him once more.

He knew he should get himself in shade as soon as possible; then he would get well faster.

He blinked to focus on the ash-covered tree again.

…What was he thinking. It was too far–

There was no way he could make it there–

He couldn't do it–

Jack nearly sobbed because he could feel the sun sizzling his back and the tree was so far away–

Okay, okay, stay calm. He should… he should make it into a game. Yeah. Then it wouldn't matter how long it'd take.

He could pretend he was trudging through snow instead. Grey, bitter snow; but it was certainly soft enough to fit the bill. He could pretend he was some kind of explorer heading for refuge in the burning cold, after the heroic discovery of a new land. And shelter was so, so close; he just had to reach it.

Jack pushed himself to his knees and elbows for a second time, ignoring the bone-deep ache in his limbs and the throbbing in his stomach, and thinking repeatedly that it was snow. It was just snow. You could build snowmen with it. If you lied on your back and waved your arms and legs about you'd make snow angels. It was just like snow. It was snow.

Jack found himself crawling to the tree, repeating over and over again that it. Was. Snow.

It was snow.

His sight began to blur; he could still see the tree rising up before him but it was bleary now, its canopy turned into a shapeless grey mass, wavering impossibly in front of his eyes, the blobs of light shining through it swimming in and out of focus.

It seemed just as far as before, but brave explorers didn't give up. He stayed focused on it, and kept going.

Jack idly thought of his staff, of flying effortlessly through falling snow…

His gaze strayed off the tree to glide over the surrounding grey, searching for the familiar shape. He was faced with the whole world swimming sickeningly by the motion, the ground and the plants shifting and floating all around him. The more he looked, the more unstable he felt, the less he could comprehend what he saw.

Jack was overcome by the fear that when he'd turn his head to face forward again, he wouldn't be able to find the shadow-draped tree any more. That he'd have lost it, and he'd be stuck between swimming, formless shapes, not knowing where to go.

He hurriedly turned to look for his tree, his heart beating painfully. He thought he could discern it in front of him, but he couldn't be entirely sure he was still going the right way.

…Ah, but explorers were well-known for their incredible sense of direction. So, he couldn't be lost.

The boy went on. It wasn't like explorers had magical staffs, after all. Their feats would be a lot less admirable if they could just fly all over the place. He didn't need it to reach shelter from the snow.

Yet the question of what had happened to his staff formed in the back of his mind. He didn't know where it was. He didn't know how he had survived the snakes. He didn't know what had happened to it during their rampage.

The boy realized it might be burnt to ashes.

Somehow, the thought didn't really distress him.

…Jack knew he should be horrified by the possibility, but he couldn't find it in himself to react appropriately.

He was probably too out of it, that's why.

He just had to focus on one thing at a time.

Then there was a moment when Jack abruptly struggled to raise his head and torso from the grey dust, his throat wrecked with burning coughs, mouth filled with ash. He didn't remember lying down to rest.

He pushed himself on all fours again and resumed trudging forward. Whew, sleeping in the snow was dangerous, he knew that. It was incredible that it had not claimed his life, Jack snickered to himself. He was an awesome explorer, to be able to withstand that! The very best–

Jack suddenly found himself in a somewhat cooler place. The grey dust filling his palms felt colder. The sunlight not so bright. The air not quite so burning.

…He had made it.

The boy sighed and let himself drop to the side and roll on his back, a small cloud of cinders rising all around him. He closed his eyes and held his breath until it settled down again.

He didn't know for how long he stayed like this, slowly breathing warm air in and out, trying to ignore the burning need for water; when he opened his eyes again there was still daylight, and his head felt a bit clearer. Being in shade had indeed helped.

A small smile formed on Jack's face, which melted into a grimace when he tried to sit up. Previously unnoticed pains were coming to the surface, competing for his attention: his right shin really hurt, and Jack suspected he had cracked the bone. It was the same for the left ankle and elbow, while his right shoulder might have been dislocated. His ribs also felt funny. …Aftereffects of the wild ride on his way out the tunnels.

Yet he could breathe, and was not spitting any blood, and at no point was any bone jutting out of the body, soo… it wasn't that bad actually.

Really, his level of explorer hardiness was off the charts.

The boy considered trying to sit up again and search for his staff. Should he try it now? He'd probably need to get in the sun again for that and he really didn't feel like he was up for it.

Should he wait until nightfall instead…? However, in the off chance that the staff wasn't burnt but simply buried in the ash, he'd never manage to find it in the dark. Wait until morning then?

Jack considered his options.

He wasn't in any particular hurry to find it right now: the snakes' attack was clearly over, and if the Old Hag had survived unscathed… Jack had the feeling she would have gotten out and attacked him already. He was probably safe–

The boy was wrecked by an overwhelming wave of nausea at the memory of the small village by the shore and of the grey snakeskin heading down the slope.

The wrenching feeling in his gut peaked, and Jack almost gasped with the need to go check the village right away– but he couldn't. Just couldn't. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't even turn to look towards that direction. Couldn't deal with this. Didn't want to see what he'd find. These people hadn't done anything wrong and they had paid for his carelessness.

Jack buried his face in his hands. Why had he survived, anyway?! It wasn't fair! He was all by himself, defenseless and barely conscious during the snakes' attack outside the mountain.

Actually, scratch that, he was completely unconscious during their attack; his earliest memory from when he was lost in the nightmare-filled haze was of the fluffy animals approaching him, and no way did they do that during a volcano eruption: they would have gone into hiding. So, he had begun coming to after the attack was over.

The last clear memory he had before that was of flying towards the snakes when they erupted from the mountain; then the world went dark–

…That was how he survived, Jack realized hollowly. He had passed out: he must have dropped the staff and fell from the sky; landed somewhere away from it.

He had already been overheated by then; he wouldn't stand out much from his surroundings.

The snakes couldn't find him.

They headed for the sea instead.

Jack tried to drown a sob into his palms.

Why should he survive? Why couldn't he manage to hold onto his staff?! Everything would be okay then!

Maybe– maybe there was still something he could do for that village. Maybe. Not undo all that was done to it, obviously, but… maybe there were still lingering fires that needed to be put out. Or maybe there was ash that needed to be cleared out by the wind. Or things needing to be cooled down.

He had to find his staff; if it was still intact.

Jack tried to sit up a second time, this once successfully. His vision was a lot better now: he could discern the things around him properly —he could see the marks he had left as he had crawled through the ash, the indentation in the shape of his body from where he had been laying in the thick dust. No large, kangaroo-sized footsteps were around, and Jack pointedly ignored the ache in his chest.

…That was his crashing spot. The staff had to have fallen somewhere close.

He looked around, searching the uniform blanket of grey for any clue for the whereabouts of his staff.

His tired eyes spotted a group of small birds hurdling next to each other, forming a line on the ground. They fluttered occasionally and bumped into each other, but remained strangely on line.

The boy slowly pushed himself to his feet, his hurt shin and ankle protesting at the treatment. Jack bit his lip when the bare soles of his feet pressed against the dusty ground; they stung with pain. They must have gotten burnt inside the tunnels, along with his back and probably every inch of skin that came in contact with the burning stone. Jack found himself wavering in place; it was hard to remain upright, and if it weren't for the endless years of perfecting his balancing skills he would already have face-planted into the ash.

He didn't feel like he was strong enough to withstand another slow crawl in the sun, though. Walking would be harder but much more preferable.

Jack stepped out into the burning light again and stumbled towards the birds, flinching each time his feet touched the ground, focusing only on the small animals, getting closer, closer–

The birds sprang into flight and disappeared in the burning light. Jack dropped to his knees and reached with his good arm to search through the ashes.

Dust filled his palm; he could feel rocks and crushed leaves–

Then his fingers touched wood and an instant wave of blessed cold jostled through him.

Jack closed his hand around the familiar object, the refreshing coolness washing through him, and he should really feel relief, but the only thing he could think of was the village and the fires it had to face. Why should he get to feel coolness?

The frost spirit called for the wind, but it became immediately obvious that he was in no state to make the flight to the village. He only managed to create the faintest whisper of a breeze; it lifted him gently and deposited him in the shadow of another tree.

"Alright," Jack breathed as he shifted so he could lean against the trunk, the staff laying idle in weak fingers. "Let's just… wait here for a while. Until I heal a little bit."

The injured bones were not magical injuries; they were of the boring hit-against-a-wall-variety. They would be much better very soon, and lying in shade with the staff in his hands would really help.

On the other hand, his burnt back didn't appreciate being pressed against the rough trunk, but Jack didn't care. That, too, would heal in time. He didn't need to do anything about it. Plus he didn't really want to look.

Same as he didn't want to look beneath the bandage on his right arm or, more importantly, beneath the shirt covering his stomach, where the Old Hag had–

Jack made sure to stare pointedly at the canopy overhead. It was a nice canopy, despite the ash-coloured leaves.

He didn't want to admit to himself that he could see from the corner of his eye that the whole shirt in front of his stomach was a dull brown from congealed blood.

The frost spirit closed his eyes firmly instead, and once again realized that they felt really warm. Feverishly warm. Unbearably warm.

Jack frowned and conjured some snow —relieved that it was still possible in his current condition— and pressed it against his eyes.

He couldn't help it; despite the misery that gnawed inside him, the boy could only sigh in bliss at the soothing sensation.

It wasn't long before the snow melted in the warm midday air, but now that he got a taste of coldness, Jack found he could not stop. He needed it.

He tried to create a whole blanket of snow all around him; yet the heat was too intense, and the effort proved too much for him. It left him oddly drained and the surrounding ash replaced by grey mud.

The frost spirit resorted to making a mouthful of snow instead and promptly gulped it down, savoring the cool sensation going down his throat.

He liked it a lot less when he vomited it back out two minutes later.

Unwilling to give up he tried again, only this time by simply holding the snow in his mouth and letting it melt slowly, blissfully.

This was much better. Jack couldn't hold back a humorless chuckle at the thought of snow being colder than him. It was surreal. He was really messed up.

He repeated the process a few times, and was satisfied to see he was able to stomach it down.

A movement caught in the corner of his eye made Jack turn, and he saw the fox from earlier edging closer, clearly wary.

The animal came very close and paused with one paw still in the air, staring vaguely to his direction. It wouldn't be able to discern him properly, Jack knew, but it could definitely smell him and sense that something colder was here. It couldn't tell exactly what though, and after he had disturbed it with his sudden commotion, it was reluctant to get any closer again.

Which was just as well because the animals had been warming him up and that had not helped.

The fox continued to stare at him, one paw hanging in the air.

"...Oh, come here," Jack sighed softly and leaned to pick it up with both hands.

The animal froze when it felt a strange entity lift it up into the air but didn't struggle, and it settled down just as soon as Jack placed it on his lap. The extra warmth felt instantly unpleasant, but Jack didn't care. He put one arm loosely around the warm weight to keep it better cool, and the fox closed its eyes for a nap.

It was just as adorable as Jack remembered these things to always be.

He ran his fingers through the fine, soft hair a couple of times before he let his hand rest on the ground and closed his eyes as well.

Soon, the warm weight became outright nauseating, and a nasty headache pierced its way into his skull. His breathing turned shallower.

He passed out not long after that.

The animal was disturbed some time later anyway, when he leaned to the side and vomited all the melted snow out. It scampered away and didn't come back again.

Heatstroke is nasty business. The only cure is getting cooled down and staying hydrated.

Many kudos to all the readers who commented on expecting/hoping for Bunny or another guardian to come help Jack! At first I was troubled because that was not what I was going for in the plot (which means I gave wrong impressions as a writer), but then I thought "Heyyyy what if I make Jack also think that someone has come to help him? That could work!"

So, this chapter would have been very different without your input! Thank you for that! :D

TheUltimateAngela, thank you for reading and the kind words, I really appreciate it! :-) (Heyy, Jack can totally deal with everything on his ownnnnmaybe?)

WinterCrystal1009, a muriad thanks for the very nice words! I'm very glad to hear it made you feel that way! :D (RotG's awesomeness is so great it attracts fans from all ages and walks of life! Including me, someone who indeed happens to not be a teenager :P I am sure there are some extremely talented kiddies and teenagers out there though, much better than the average adult. Think of Anna Frank! Sky's the limiiit) I'm very sorry to hear that. (And I can't describe you how surprised and touched I am that something I write for fun makes another person somewhere in this wide world feel just a little better) I can only hope you have someone to be there for you in this difficult time... and that things will get better soon! Keep writing, if you have the time and mood for it, it can be very therapeutic! Lots and lots of love from a random stranger on the internet!

DemigodseaMeg16, well, Jack is RotG's cinnamon roll, so he is condemned to eternal torture by fanfic writers. That is every cinnamon roll's sad fate and the price they have to pay for being extremely loveable. But also yes this fanfic is not one of the generous ones lol XD Thank you for reading and commenting!

OrangeWolf4, whoa! That's a huge compliment! I can't believe someone said this about my story! Thank you very much! :O