Scout was the first to see the stranger. She came as dusk was falling and she came alone, her fur lit gold by the dying sunlight. Scout could see a green scarf knotted around her neck. A person, then.

Scout would have called out a greeting, but the expression on the stranger's face froze her in place. The stranger's upper lip was drawn back over sharp white teeth. Her ears lay low, and steam rose from the dark tufts beneath them. She looked angry. But not angry the way a person looked during a fight.

By the time Scout gathered her wits, the stranger had already passed out of sight. But the path only led one place, so Scout continued as quickly as she could. In no time, the raised ice of the village walls came into view. Scout passed through and found the stranger at the center of a growing crowd. Her yellow and orange coat made her impossible to miss, despite her small size.

"Never mind about that," the stranger was saying as Scout wriggled through the crowd. Her voice was low and pleasant, though slightly hoarse. "There's been a murder!"

The overlapping murmur of the crowd abruptly cut out.

"A murder," the stranger repeated into the new silence, "on the outskirts of this village, just where the ground levels."

"Who . . ?"

"I'm new to these parts. But she was blue like a clear light sky. Yellow sails on either side of her head. Her neck was long and thin—"

"An amaura, sounds like," someone muttered. "But none live here."

"There're some feral ones up in the mountains. Don't usually wander this close to civilization."

"Long and thin and snapped like a twig." The stranger's voice sliced through the rising chatter. Steam billowed from her ears in gray puffs. Her gaze travelled around the clearing. "Who is in charge around here?"

When no one answered, Scout piped up. "My ma is. We live over there."

And Scout pointed towards the broad igloo that sat at the center of town.


Ma was waiting when they arrived. She stood tall and grand and Scout's heart filled with a warm glow of pride at the way everyone stopped a respectful distance away. Well, everyone except the stranger, who stepped forward fearlessly, even though she was only as big as one of Ma's paws.

"You're an explorer," Ma said, not really a question. Scout pricked up her ears. An explorer? She examined the stranger with new interest. "Welcome to Silversteer."

The stranger dipped her head. "I appreciate the hospitality. Are you the leader here? I'm afraid I bring ill news."

"A murder, you say." Ma's dark eyes were watchful. "Tell me about it."

The stranger repeated herself, about where the body was and what it had looked like. "Cold preserves these things, but the smell was fresh. The culprit can't have gone far."

"There are no amaura in this town. Tell me, was this one wearing a scarf?"

The question drew nods and an appreciative murmur from the crowd. Ma was in charge for a reason. She always knew the important questions to ask.

The stranger's answer came after a long pause. "I didn't notice one."

"A bandana, perhaps? Any cloth, knotted around her neck or legs?" When the stranger remained silent, Ma nodded and said, "I suspected as much. Set your heart at ease. It was a feral amaura. Probably got itself killed in a territorial fight."

"So close to town, though!" The exclamation came from the old piloswine who prepared the town's medicines. "Perhaps we need to reinforce the walls again."

"Or send another raiding party," someone muttered.

Ma listened closely as more people chimed in with their concerns. But when she raised her paw, silence fell. "We'll investigate. See if this was an isolated incident, or a sign that the ferals are moving closer. As for the walls, I was planning to reinforce them after the solstice."

Once again, her words drew nods and murmurs of agreement.

"When you say investigate, what do you mean?" The stranger's jaw was raised in a way that seemed almost like an invitation to battle. "Where I am from, when there is a violent death, we appoint a Snifter, someone to seek the truth of it. Maybe your customs differ."

Ma's icebeard lengthened, the only sign that she'd noticed the challenge in the stranger's attitude. "As to the death, I don't see what there is to investigate."

"The sky was already losing light when I saw the body," the stranger said. "I'd like to examine the scene again in the morning. Maybe I missed something."

"Unlikely. There isn't another town within a hundred beats of Kyurem's wings."

"Nevertheless."

Ma stared down at the stranger.

"You may do as you wish, of course," she said at last. Her tone was smooth and gracious, but there was a hardness under it, like an ice-slicked cliff. Scout wondered if the stranger heard it.

"Thank you," the stranger said. "I shall."


In the dream, Scout ran alone through the snow.

The wind tore furiously at her neck. Someone was chasing her and she knew she couldn't stop. The familiar walls of the village rose ahead, but as Scout raced towards them, Ma stepped out, claws raised and catching the light.

"Help, Ma!" Scout screamed, but Ma just stared at her the same way she'd stare at a tree or a boulder. Scout staggered to a stop. One paw rose to her bare neck. Her bare neck.

And Ma moved forward, brought her claws down—

"Cubling, cubling, shhh." Scout was bundled up into strong arms. She pushed into the warmth of Ma's thick fur. "Shh, shh, little one. You were having a bad dream."

Scout touched her paw to her neck and was met with the reassuring feel of cloth. "My scarf was gone," she whispered in horror. "It was gone and you didn't know I was me—"

"Quiet now, quiet. I'd always know you, my cubling, whether your pretty white fur was brown with dirt or stained red with berry juice."

"But how would you—"

"Listen, and I will tell you a story. Long, long ago, the world was still and dark. No snow came and no snow melted."

Scout cuddled in closer, soothed by Ma's rumbling voice.

"Then the three dragons arose and set the world alive. White-Flaming Reshiram brought heat. Black-Thundering Zekrom brought light. And Silver-Storming Kyurem brought cold. Then there were days and nights and seasons, and the world grew populous.

"But Kyurem went deep into the cold and locked herself away in an icy cave. There she did not eat and did not sleep. She meditated and so found great wisdom. But when she at last re-entered the world, she was shocked to see what had transpired in her absence. Her brothers Black-Thunder and White-Flame had warred, and in their warring set battle fury into every heart. In her meditation, Kyurem had come to realize that the ideal world was a peaceful one where every creature lived in perfect harmony. But when she looked out onto the charred battlescape of the world as it was, she thought this could never be. So she resolved to freeze the world in an ice so cold that every heart would stop. Yes, even your heart and my heart, little one, though the cold is our friend."

Scout's eyes widened.

"But just as she was about to do this terrible thing, she came upon two children. The tales don't remember their names, but I am sure one was a kind-hearted cubchoo like you."

"Was the other one like the stranger?"

Scout thought the stranger must have a kind heart, to be so worried over a feral amaura.

Ma gave a long pause. "I suppose she could have been. Well, this cubchoo and fennekin weren't fighting like the others. The fennekin was injured and the cubchoo had bound the injury with thick moss, knotted tightly. When Kyurem saw this, she was amazed. Perhaps this world can be salvaged, she thought. She breathed on the two children with an icy breath that brought clarity to their minds. Together they founded the first civilization.

"After that, Kyurem wandered the land. Whoever met her, if they could show some sign that they'd made peace with another, also received her blessing. Those that could not were consumed by fire and thunder, and led lives of ceaseless, mindless battles, as did all their children. But you, my child, are born from those that Kyurem breathed her icy wisdom into. The scarf you wear is only an outward sign of that."

Scout yawned, made sleepy from the long story.

"That's right, cubling. Let's get you back to bed."


The stranger was sleeping sounding when Scout peaked her head into the guest alcove the next morning. Her pack lay a few feet away. Curious, Scout inched forward and peered inside. Lots of dried apple slices. A few strange spheres that glinted like polished ice. And pressed to the bottom—

The yawn made Scout jump. The stranger pushed herself up from the moss bed. "Morning already?" she asked, blinking her red eyes. "It's very dark in here."

"There's silver food this morning for breakfast," Scout told her. "I'm Scout, by the way. I'm almost entirely grown-up."

"Nice to meet you, Scout. I'm Aida." She barked out a strange half-laugh. "I wish I were a little less grown-up."

As Scout led the stranger—Aida—down the corridor, she couldn't hold herself back from asking, "Are you really an explorer? I thought explorers never went anywhere alone."

They had gone several paces in silence before an answer came. "I really am an explorer. And I really am alone."

Scout felt that somehow she'd made the stranger sad. She kept quiet all through breakfast, watching the fennekin eat. Aida was polite, but Scout could see she didn't like the silver food much. She only took a small helping and didn't ask for a second. When she took her leave, Scout scrambled to her feet, but Ma's long arm tugged her back down.

"You have food still, cubling," Ma chided. Scout stared at her breakfast, regretting her hungry eyes. She didn't want to eat; she wanted to follow Aida and watch her investigation. There was no use saying that, though. Ma was in a mood. Hoarfrost had crawled from her ice-beard down her belly.

"Why don't you like the stranger?" Scout asked finally.

Ma didn't answer right away. "I know she means no harm. But even people who don't mean harm can cause it. She should leave things well enough alone."

Scout swallowed her last mouthful of food. "May I go and help with the solstice preparations?"

"You may." Ma's lips tugged back into a smile, and she gave Scout's head a solid pat. "You're a good cub, and one day you'll make a fine leader."

Ma's praise almost made Scout regret her lie. The day outside was bright and sparkled with new snowfall. Scout made her way through the village into the clearing where preparations for the solstice were getting underway. Everyone was preoccupied with their own affairs: no one noticed her slip past the village wall.

When Scout found Aida, she was clearing away snow. Scout padded closer, the snow masking her footsteps until she was only a pace from the fennekin.

"Child—" Aida turned. "I don't think you're meant to be here."

Blue like a sky, she had said, but the body looked less like a sky and more like water that had melted and refrozen. Scout's stomach twisted uneasily as she looked at it. Around the body, blood and snow had mixed and pinkened like frosted summer flowers. Scout took another step closer, and gasped. The amaura's eye was open, staring straight at her. The pupil was large and dark.

"She died afraid," Aida said in a low voice. "There are bruises on her body. Someone gripped her. Someone didn't let go."

Scout shivered. The snow was melting around her feet from the fennekin's heat. The water sloshed as she fidgeted in place, both wanting to run and wanting to stay. She couldn't look away from the amaura's dark pupil.

"Go home, child."

Aida's voice was firm. Almost grateful for the excuse, Scout spun around and took off towards the village. She couldn't shake the feeling that the dead amaura was watching her go.


Scout found her friends playing Explorers and Ferals behind Ma's igloo. Tribbs clapped his leafy hands together with a dull smack when he saw her.

"You're a feral, Scout," the snover said at once.

Scout's unease evaporated under the heat of sudden indignation. "How come I have to be a feral?"

"'Cause you were late." Tribbs smirked. Racer and Redbright nodded in agreement.

Scout sat in sullen silence as the three of them conferred on their Explorer Team name. "I met a real explorer today, you know."

That got their attention back. "The stranger? What's she like? Did she have any stories?"

Scout had to mull that over for a moment. "She's not how I thought an explorer would be. She's very serious and sad."

Her observation was met with baffled silence.

"I don't think she could be a real explorer anyway," Racer said, "Explorers have partners or teams." The swinub frowned at Scout. "Take off your scarf."

"I'll get in trouble."

"Come on. It's no fun playing if you keep it on."

Scout tugged off her scarf, feeling uneasy. She went off to hide behind a tree as Team Really Awesome set off into the "dungeon," squabbling over the apples Racer had swiped from the solstice preparations. This went on for so many minutes that Scout began to tune them out. She was thinking about what the stranger had said. She died afraid. Even if the amaura had attacked first, that didn't make it right to kill her. Ferals would flee once you beat them up a bit and showed them you were boss. That was what everyone said.

Scout had forgotten about the game. When someone tackled her from behind, she moved instinctively. Her claws came out. She bucked. Tribbs tumbled back on the snow with a grunt. But Racer and Redbright were closing in on either side. Scout backed up and hit the side of the igloo.

She was trapped.

Hotness tightened around her head. When Tribbs leaped again, she swiped at his face without retracting her claws. He reeled back and let out a loud moan.

"Scout, that hurt!" he said indignantly.

Scout shrugged, the hot feeling still coursing through her. Her breath was coming fast. "There's one of me and three of you and you're attacking me. Who's next?"

She raised her paws again.

"Ugh, you're no fun," said Racer with a scowl. "If you won't play properly, what's the point? Let's check out the solstice preparations. I bet there's some good food out by now."

The three of them took off towards the clearing, Scout trailing behind. She felt annoyed with her friends and with herself at the same time. Explorers and Ferals was always more fun for the explorers. That was just how it went. She should have sucked it up and played along.

The clearing was bustling by now. Long tables had been shaped from the ice and the air was full of tasty smells. Ma moved from place to place, overseeing the set-up. Scout ducked her head guiltily when Ma glanced her way and tried to scoot behind Tribb's bulk. Someone had probably told Ma that Scout hadn't been seen helping out that morning. She hoped Ma didn't get too mad.

Suddenly, Tribbs went still.

Scout peeked around him to see the stranger standing at the edge of the festival preparations. A soaked scarf was gripped in her mouth. Silence spread like muffling snow as she walked through the clearing and spat out the cloth at Ma's feet.

"It was hidden well, buried in the snow many paces from the body."

Her tone was so flat that it took a moment for her words to sink in. Scout gaped with the crowd as Ma stared down at the scarf.

"By the body?" she repeated.

"Yes," Aida answered firmly. "Does that change things?"

"Tell me what else you learned."

"There were bruises on her neck where she was strangled and there were also bruises—elsewhere. Three dark blotches. The culprit must have three-fingered hands. No claws: I didn't see any cuts on the skin. I noted the size. If you allow me to examine each citizen here—"

An uneasy ripple passed through the clearing.

"That will not be necessary," Ma said, still staring at the scarf. "I will continue this investigation myself. Walk with me."

When they had gone, the bustle did not resume. People whispered to their neighbors in low, urgent voices.

"What was that about?" Racer wondered.

Tribbs, who was quicker on the uptake, said, "It means someone's a murderer! You saw the scarf. A feral wouldn't have bothered to hide it."

"That scarf—" Scout began. The three looked at her. "Never mind," she muttered.

She had to talk to Ma. But it was hard to get away from the festival preparations. One of the adults tasked her with shucking nuts, and when that was done, she had to help set the tables. The light was already leaching from the sky when she managed to escape back to the igloo.

Ma wasn't in the receiving room, or the eating room, or even in her sleeping room. At last, Scout caught the sound of voices coming from the storage pit. Ma and someone else. Not the stranger. Scout realized that she was stepping lightly, trying not to make a sound. It was something about the voices. They were pitched low and secretive.

"You have to believe me, Gloria, I never saw any scarf."

"I want to know why."

Ma spoke with the dangerous softness of the snow that tipped an avalanche into motion.

"You know that ever since my wife's injury I've needed—"

Scout's eyes widened. Tribb's father! His wife had been half-crushed under a sudden slide last winter. She had to make an ice path and push herself to get anywhere now.

"Yes, I know what you've needed."

"She followed me afterward. I couldn't make her go. I swear, she didn't speak properly. There was no scarf. She wasn't—"

"You're going to leave the village," Ma said. "There's nothing else to be done. I want you gone by morning, do you understand? If you don't give me trouble, I'll come up with a lie for your wife. If not, I'll tell her exactly what you were doing all those long nights away."

In the thick silence that fell, Scout could hear her heart racing.

"I understand."

Scout stumbled back when she heard footsteps. She ducked into an alcove and pressed herself down as Tribb's father shuffled heavily past. Her limbs felt frozen, but he didn't notice her. Ma followed. Once Scout had recovered herself enough to move, she crept after her and found her sitting alone in her sleeping room.

When Ma noticed Scout, she opened her arms without saying a word. Automatically, Scout cuddled into them. She'd always thought of Ma's arms as the safest place in the world. But she didn't feel safe now. She squeezed her eyes shut, but dark bruises and a dark wide eye still streaked through her mind. Had the amaura tried to speak? Had he clamped a leafy hand over her mouth? She died afraid.

"Ma," she said hesitantly. "What happened? Do you know—"

"Hush. It's been dealt with, Scout."

"But why—"

"Hush." The lullaby word held the harshness of a command. "It's all over now. The sun will set and we will celebrate the solstice, giving thanks to Kyurem. Nothing had changed." Ma spoke a second time, as if the words were an ice wall that could be reinforced with repetition. "Nothing has changed."


Night arrived suddenly and silently, like a pouncing sneasel. The clearing filled, children raced, moonlight flashed off the ice. Scout picked at her food, ignoring the light chatter around her. The tension from earlier had lifted from the villagers. Word had quickly spread: whatever it was, it's over.

Aida had been given a seat of honor at the table's end, but no one spoke with her or even looked her way. It was as if she wasn't there at all. No one but Scout seemed to notice when the fennekin slipped from her seat.

Ma stood. Her clear voice rang out across the pavilion. "Tonight, citizens, we give thanks. We honor Kyurem and bless the bounty she has given us."

As all eyes turned to Ma, Scout scooted away, making for the village wall. The fennekin's tracks were easy to follow: the snow had melted slightly everywhere she stepped. Scout found her on a hill-crest, eyes fixed on the rising moon. Her scarf twisted and rippled in the breeze.

"Hello," Scout said.

Aida turned and looked at her wearily. "You should be celebrating, child."

"You're not."

"No, I'm not."

Her smile was more of a grimace. Scout steeled herself and then spoke. "You lied to us. About how you found that scarf. It was in your pack this morning. I saw it."

Aida's face didn't change but the air grew uncomfortably warm around her. "Did you tell your mother that?"

". . . no. She—" Scout didn't fully understand what she'd overheard. But she'd known the guilty look on Ma's face, and the knowing coursed through her now like venom."Never mind about Ma. Who's scarf was that really?"

"My partner's," Aida said. The steam rising from her ear tufts thickened.

Scout blinked. "You said you didn't have a partner."

"I don't anymore."

"Did they die?" Scout said in a hushed voice. Exploring was dangerous. Anywhere outside the walls was dangerous. Everyone knew that. Aida's partner must have died. That was why she was so sad.

But Aida looked at her for a while and then said, "No, she didn't die. She left."

"Left? I don't understand."

"I didn't either. Not at first."

She sat back on her haunches. When she continued, her voice had fallen into a story-teller's low lilt. "My partner was a fennekin like me, but she grew up outside my settlement. I met her on a training mission I foolishly undertook alone. The land shifted under me, as if trying to buck me off its back, and I fell. She found me as I lay there, twisting in pain. Our coats were the same hue, but her speech was strange to me, and mine to her. I expected her to attack me, but she only watched me for a long time from a distance. Finally, she went away. I thought then that I would die alone in that place, but when I next opened my eyes she had returned with food. We found a few words in common. She told me in broken speech that she had always heard wall-dwelling fennekin were evil, but I seemed kind. I did not have the heart to repeat to her what my people said about those who live outside the settlement walls.

"We became partners and travelled long and far. Until one day we returned to the settlement and found it had been enlarged. Her kin were gone. We could find no trace of them. At last, I was told that some feral fennekin had lived in the area, but they'd been driven off. Some had resisted; those ones had been killed. My partner trembled when she heard this. She clawed off the scarf I had given her—my first gift to her—and spat it at my feet. And she told me this story."

Aida drew in a shaky breath. The snow around her feet had turned to slush.

"Once all people lived in peace and plenty, for there was fruit enough for all. The summer dragon brought heat, the winter dragon brought cold, and the spring dragon brought thundering rain. But there were some who were not content with enough. When they had eaten their fill, they picked still more, and guarded this fruit closely and covetously. For the first time, there was lack. In exchange for the fruit they hoarded, they demanded the others make them the beginnings of a wall. When this was done, they relinquished the fruit, but the next day they again picked more than their share and again demanded work in exchange. So the wall grew higher.

"This went on, until at last all the fruit trees were encircled by the wall, and all the people, save for a few, dwelled on the outside. When the people tried to pick their fruit, those inside held the walls against them. It was not possible to live with no fruit. So the people went to the three dragons, requesting help. The spring dragon said, I will help you. He split the sky and rain fell. New fruit trees sprouted outside the walls. The summer dragon said, I will help you. His wings blazed and the sun strengthened. The sprouts grew quickly into new trees. Only Kyurem watched silently, and offered them no aid.

"Now the people were glad. Thanks to you, Great Dragons, we will have our own fruit trees, they said, and we will not suffer for the greed of our neighbors. The months it took the new trees to grow were hungry ones. Many perished, but they were patient, and soon there was fruit again, fruit enough for all.

"But when the wall-dwellers witnessed this new bounty, which did not belong to them, malice and anger once more bittered their hearts. They watched from their walls as the fennekin lived content off the fruit, and their envy simmered. Soon, they hatched a terrible plan.

"The wall-dwellers gathered a great portion of their harvest and left their walls, pretending they wished to once again join fortunes with those outside. The fennekin thought they had at last come to their senses. Rejoicing, they welcomed the wall-dwellers without suspicion, and the two groups came together for a giant feast. Only one thing was odd—the wall-dwellers each had some wrapping around their leg, paw, or neck. But the other fennekin did not make anything of this, except to reflect on what strange customs walls could breed.

"The feast lasted into the early hours of the morning, for the harvest seemed to have no end. At last the feasters dropped into a deep sleep, lulled by the richness and redolence of the food. But the wall-dwellers had not slept—they rose quietly and, discerning by the dawning day the wrappings that marked their fellows, struck at all those who lived outside. The grass grew dark with blood and the air thick with screams. In the slaughter that ensued, only a single child managed to escape.

"She fled terrified, but remembered the ancient wings of the dragons and sought refuge with them. O Summer-Bright and Rain-Quench! she cried out. The wall-dwellers have tricked us and now seek to destroy us all. Help me!

"The summer dragon said, Once I fought my brother until he bled. Then I repented and vowed to fight no more. I will ask the sun to bless your trees, but I cannot help you.

"The spring dragon said, Once I fought my brother until he bled. Then I repented and vowed to fight no more. I will ask the rain to bless your trees, but I cannot help you.

"Only the winter dragon remained. The child trembled before her, for she was cold and terrible. But she said, Child, I will help you.

"I will breath upon these wall-dwellers and place ice into their hearts. This ice will spread inside them, until they are cold all the way through. The land will wince at their foot-falls and turn against them, until at last they will be trapped inside their precious walls. Then your people can rejoice, child, for the whole earth will once again be your bounty.

"So the great dragon spoke."

"No." It took effort for Scout to form words, as if she were speaking through a massive snow drift. "You've got the story wrong, Kyurem breathed the ice into our minds not our hearts, and she did that so we could be good and peaceful!"

"Good and peaceful," Aida repeated, her lip curling. "Like the people in this town."

"Yes!"

"Like the person who killed that amaura."

Scout flinched back like she'd been struck. At last, she whimpered, "Ma told it differently. Did she lie to me?"

Aida's laugh was harsh and bitter, and went on too long, until she was rasping smoke and flame. The fire-sparks fizzed through the dark air; one struck Scout's nose and stung terribly.

"It's just a story. As false and true as the face a frozen lake reflects back at you. So believe what you will. I've lingered here too long—I can feel the ice creeping up inside of me."

Aida shuddered, ruffed her yellow coat and took off down the hillside without another word.


The moonlight gleamed off the amaura's crumpled body. No one had made her an ice-mound yet. Family was supposed to make it. But if the amaura did have family, they didn't know she was here. Maybe they'd never know.

Ma had labored at Pa's mound all night, alone, until it rose higher than the village walls. Each morning after, for many moons, she had added a new layer.

The ice means you don't forget, she'd told Scout.

As Scout stared at the sunken body, something furious flamed in her heart. She opened her mouth and a few powdery flakes wisped out. That wouldn't be enough. Frustrated, Scout balled her paws into fists and made her breathing long and slow. A cold wind stirred up. Scout felt it whip around her. She closed her eyes and pushed.

There was a soft thump. A drift of snow had blown over the body. Scout panted, her chest tight with effort. She pushed again, harder this time, and another drift fell over the body. The third push knocked Scout to the ground. She lay on the snow, her heart speeding. The mound was low, barely higher than her head if she'd been standing, but it was recognizable as a mound now.

"I'll come back," Scout whispered.

I won't forget. I won't let them forget.


The festivities were still underway when Scout returned to the village. She stood in the shadow of the ice-walls, listening to the laughter and drunken hoots. As she looked on, another feast overlaid itself in her mind. The snow turned red, the laughter to victorious howls; a chip of ice gleamed in every heart.

Scout's paw rose to the scarf tied around her neck. The cloth felt tight enough to strangle.

It took five tugs to come loose. She stared at her paw and then slowly unclenched her fist. At once, the breeze bore her scarf upwards. Dipping and flapping, the cloth charted a giddy ascent until it was lost to the night.

The wind was cool on her bare neck. Scout stepped into the circle of light.