"That's too far into the forest! We aren't supposed to go there!" he exclaims, looking anxiously after his friend.

She groans. "It won't take long. Stop being such a scaredy-cat!"

But he can only stutter and shiver in response, still worried about the hidden secrets of that corner. Then his companion extends her hand out to him beckoningly.

"It'll be fine. I'm here for you!"

He blinks, somewhat startled by my reply. Perhaps it's because it sounds out of character or because I keep randomly yelling nonsense at the wrong times, but he can only stare back in response, perplexed.

"There were only two of these colours anyway. We wouldn't have had enough for Miko and Riko."

I sound so selfish...but that's on par with most things I say, right?

"Is something wrong, Nana?"

"What?"

His visage creased by a concerned frown, Popo raises an eyebrow curiously at me- he's doing it again. Those brilliant night blue eyes piercing through my thickly coated parka like an ice axe plunging into a frozen sheet. If I'm not careful, the packed ice is going to melt.

"You've been acting a bit weird at times."

Evenings in Hachigo are usually warmer than the day, oddly enough. I wonder if it's affecting the ice. It's as if the beaming flames from the sun only decide to linger after their bearer hides behind the horizon; their heat embracing everyone, everything, every bit of me.

I barely notice my finger twirl my braid in circles. "I act weird all the time. What's your point?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Nana."

My feet grow heavy, unlike the lightness that was carried by the threads around my wrist when I'd tied it. Though we're both at a standstill, I'm anchored by those same strings as I convince myself to make eye contact with him. I sigh.

"I've just had a lot on my mind." With enough effort, I manage to uproot my feet from the ground and grin, "But it's nothing important, so don't worry about it, okay?"

That's right. It's nothing.

I almost trip out of haste as I begin to skip ahead of Popo, ahead of his confused gaze before he starts to follow me again. Instead of turning to see if he's not too far behind me or not, my gaze focuses on the hollow of houses and small inns lying before us, faint whispers of candlelight echoing from their windows. They illuminate our sky here like stepping stone lanterns; they illuminate our path and the dim light behind our eyes.

When we arrive back at the hostel the first thing I want to do is fling myself onto my bed upstairs and fall away from reality's realness, but my grumbling stomach decides against it and I accompany my friend to the confined seating area. I doubt the nourishment cooked by that old hag's anything delectable enough to satisfy my taste buds, but at this point I'd gladly feast on a rotten table. This is probably what happens when you live off vegetables for weeks on freezing cold glaciers.

...At least it's hot food.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Rise and shine."

The vibration of my vocal chords barely mewls a groan muffled by the downy fluffiness of my pillow, enough of an indication of my unwillingness. Why Popo's bothering to even try and rouse me from my sleep is a mystery to me – but he goes ahead and ruffles my hair lightly, prompting me to retrieve enough spirit to (attempt) to push away his hand.

Refusing to move any more, I mumble, "I haven't slept in a proper bed since... forever. Go away."

In truth, the bedding provided for our lodgings isn't anything spectacular, but it certainly feels comfier than lying on chilling snow that drowns you in your sleep. My duvet continues to wrap me with its fur's hugging warmth, encasing me like a cocoon and defending my slumber as I continue to dream of h-

"Hey!"

Or not.

My shell is swiftly drawn away from me, leaving only my shivering body curled upon the mattress before I catch a glimpse of his stern expression, the duvet bundled up in both of his hands whose grip only tightens as he raises an eyebrow. Of course, I should have guessed he'd bother pulling off a prank like this: Popo, the chief's son who'll get things his way if he wants to; not a side he shows often.

It's hard for me to stifle my outburst of laughter when I see his eyebrows furrow into a frown, especially when they're combined with his "angry" pout. It's a face that's been morphed similarly into his father's, refined and sagacious, but his gleaming night blue globes of leadership have kept their time. Despite his amusing attempt at wearing a serious manner, his hilariously pathetic idea of a joke vanishes the moment my giggles permeate the air. I can only laugh even harder when I listen to the joyous harmony produced when his laughter joins mine; catching my breath, I gasp,

"Couldn't you have thought of something better than that?"

A faint smirk crossing his face, he replies, "Well, it worked, right?" He lets out another small fit of chuckles before he tosses the duvet back towards me so it lands neatly on top of me once more, though the fuzzy heat gained from it is somewhat milder. My earlier burst into giggles rendered me almost breathless, almost red-faced, and I muster but a vague nod of my head in response.

"Hurry up and get ready, anyway." Popo lightly jerks his head in the direction of the small washroom provided alongside our chamber. "Or we're going to end up leaving late." The sun's barely risen above the mountains we can see from our window, but its hazy glow echoes above the range. Overshadowing its triumph is only sky, tinged a tangy violet by the light.

I finally will myself to drag my body off the bed, my feet plopping onto the creaking floorboards before they carry me away. There isn't a necessity for me to get dressed (since nightclothes hadn't been a priority on our packing list and would have been a waste of space anyway), so I only briefly brush myself down and wash my face before cleaning my teeth. My braids haven't been untied since last evening, stray strands of dishevelled hair detaching from the delicate ribbons I usually weave them into; there isn't a mirror present in the washroom for some odd reason.

As I pull at the weak threads holding their remains together, I re-enter the main chamber with curtains of cedar brown falling beside my face, ending just by my elbows. I notice Popo's eyes widen a little as he observes my unbraided coiffure, though it isn't the first time he's seen it. Before I can say a word, however, he averts his gaze to the fascinating objects within his pack instead. Away from me.

"Aren't you packing too?" he inquires without looking up.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not ready yet," I sigh, absent-mindedly feeling my way around the bedside table

for my comb. "Have you seen my hair?" .

"You don't look that bad."

I can only scoff at his remark, despite how casually he'd said it, as if it was a breeze of a fact to understand like the whistling winds here. "I appreciate your manners, Popo. But I need serious help."

Beckoning me over to him, where he's sat on his own bed fiddling with possessions, Popo produces his own pair of hair bands, coloured crimson like my own. My subsequent blink of surprise is followed by a curt "Sit here," when he pats the spot on the bed beside him, sliding the bands onto his wrist ready to tie.

I don't need to question what he's doing; it's a scene I've familiarised myself with over the growth of our time together, my companion's tactful fingers gently knitting my locks into beauty only he seems to be able to provide for me. I remember the times I'd repeatedly taught the steps over and over again to him, the frustration I openly voiced when the spirals were lopsided and wonky. At first I'd thought it couldn't be helped – he was (and is) a boy, after all. But now the student has surpassed the master, and I feel a light chuckle rise from the warmth of my chest produced by my reminiscence.

"Do we have an actual plan for catching that wretched thing?" I muse. For the past eight peaks, we've just been chasing after it as soon as it takes off to the next mountain – not before it littered a few stray vegetables out of the sack it clutched to. Thus, it's simultaneously one of our only sources of food when we're not at a village: pick out the bits of harvest that haven't been bruised too badly and refuel ourselves. Our only current hope is to officially capture or eliminate the beast and safely retrieve the sack without any injuries. The speed is the only thing we lack. Or is it the height in our leaps? Even so, we're only human, despite what some may call our inhumanities.

"Well. If what the legends say is true, it'll just lead us around the surrounding peaks of Icicle Mountain while it can. It knows we won't be able to catch it that way, and we'll be stuck in an endless loophole."

Whether those tales are valid or not, no one can be sure; things only pass by word of mouth, of course, and have done so for generations. Our village's particular elder was the one to impart these stories to us and fellow peers as children, warning of how the rise of the monstrous condor was once again nearing with every passing day and night. Of how he would pillage our homes of our delicious life, our rejuvenating resources, our survival. He cried of how he feared our lives would never be as long as our ancestors before us.

But if they were able to get through it all, we should too.

I sigh again. "Everyone'll have starved to death by then."

Popo flawlessly secures both of my braids, tying them with just the right amount of tightness, and only nodding in response. "That's why it's up to us to capture it," he replies.

For a while, I don't say anything, my gaze fixated on his own focus in handling my hair, as if it's some faithful duty. Perhaps I'm reading too deep into it, though. He looks up to meet my eyes, upon noticing my daydreaming stare, smiling kindly. "Anyway, I think I'm finished here. Is that better?"

I grin back with affirmation. "It's best!"

"You flatter me." His smile broadens ever so slightly upon hearing my compliment.

Popo smiled a lot when we were kids, I remember. He was always so...happy to do things – not in the hyperactive, fervent manner of most juveniles, though, he always preferred to enjoy his luxuries quietly. I'd barely heard him talking to himself amongst his toys when I'd entered his room for the first time, entered the village for the first time, my Papa with his Papa explaining our pickle, and I finding a friend. We were happy – are happy – to have forged a bond with one another, set in wood.

We'd scratched something in one of the hundreds of spruce trees of the forest a long time ago, a year or two after we befriended each other. Whatever it was, it marked our everlasting friendship. It hasn't failed us yet.

Will it last longer if I carve deeper into the bark? Deeper thoughts?

I snap back to reality as Popo lightly nudges me on the side. "You're daydreaming again." How long have I been quiet for? I ask myself dumbly. I give myself a small shake before replying, brushing my silence off as casually as he spoke earlier.

"What if we just skip everything?" I say suddenly.

"Huh?"

Hesitation chokes my throat, but I fight it and continue. "I mean, just...if we get up Icicle Mountain before the thing. We'll have an advantage over it, right?"

"Do you even know what you're saying, Nana?!" Popo's voice is abruptly louder than it was before, a terraced dynamic compared to the softness I previously described. He's not angry, but his tone is incredulous, both his eyebrows and eyes widened like huge (blue) snowballs. I can't pretend I don't know why, though.

"What, would you rather we just chase it around in circles?" I accidentally snap back a little too harshly, so I murmur an apology. He dismisses it, however, instead reiterating his earlier bewilderment:

"We'll die trying to even attempt that peak. What good will that do for everyone?"

I shake my head. "They'll starve to death in both scenarios. I don't mean to sound morbid, but it's the truth, right?" After he doesn't say anything except a quiet mutter to himself that I ignore, I add, "If we get this over with sooner, everyone will have to suffer less. That's what good it'll do."

To be brutally honest, I'm not sure which method I prefer. Simply circling the mountain endlessly – a bore that would come with bags of time for me to indulge in their luxury. Time spent with- you know what I'm going to say, right? Though, then we'd die slower, or just as sluggishly as everyone back home would. We'd run out of supplies one day. But at this point, even death seems bearable if I'm alongside a friend. Then our bond would truly be frozen, unbreakable, eternally forever.

If that doesn't happen, what could the outcome be? There are other villages just like this one that we could stay in whenever we need rest or food. If we aimlessly followed the condor around, like a cat with yarn, what would we be? Travelling nomads for the rest of our years? Hand in hand, maybe we'd revisit vignettes of memories we make along the ring we ambled along, even if we only pass the same houses, trees, mountains every time. Just the two of us, together. We'd never go home. Perhaps at home they'd think we were killed, having met the same demise as our seniors, but little would they know, we were instead living in our own world, where no one could rouse us from our sleep-

Shuddering at the thought, I bury my selfishness away. The realisation that I just conceived such an idea leaves a sour taste on my tongue. I know well enough Popo could never agree to such a nightmare. I wouldn't if I were him either. He's too selfless for that; he has a heart.

"It might be better than our current plan-" -at this, my head swiftly turns towards Popo, eager at his agreement- "-if it works perfectly. With no obstacles, whatsoever. Anything could end us, after all."

Perfection. I hate the word. It's what Popo's always striven for, even when we were little. I suppose it can't be helped considering the household he was raised in, right? His mother was one of the kindest women I've ever known, but she was conservative, everyone knew that well enough while she was still here. She admired and praised tradition. I wonder how much she talked about chiefdom to her son; probably enough for him to chatter about it himself all the time. Heck, even this whole journey is for the sake of him preparing to be a good chief, chief this, chief that, chief everything. I want to vomit.

I resist the urge to voice my irritation, instead pursing my lips and clarifying, "I suggested that idea because I want it to be fun, Popo. Not perfect."

He's obviously getting increasing annoyed with me, too, because he retorts, "This isn't about fun, Nana. We're doing this because it's our duty to the village."

We led it back to them, after all. Those unspoken words still screech through his clenched teeth, an undead whisper. They poison the air so it reeks of hurt, like the painful jab in my stomach.

"I'm not saying it isn't, okay? I just want us to-"

"To what?" he interjects. Is this why I was nervous to suggest this to my partner? A flame that usually flickers faintly, a spark barely visible in the deepness of his orbs, vulnerable to the demon of temper as we all are, has aroused that flame into a forest fire-

That's an exaggeration. He isn't as angry as he was last time, but it still sends chills down my spine. I have the luck of witnessing Popo's rages in the rare event that they do occur as his closest friend, a privilege and curse wrapped in one giftbox.

I pause, still unsure if I should pursue the matter further. Our eyes are locked with determination, each of our own's meshed into one force secured by our silence. Then my earlier vanity haunts me again, providing me the key that fits this lock. So I finish my sentence.

"I want us to cherish the time we have together like this. In case...in case something like, like what you said happens."

I wait for the avalanche to fall, wait for his barely creased calmness to contort into fury. The snow never collapses. It floats daintily, instead. Popo's face displays shock very briefly, then concern, then...sadness?

Without me expecting it, he takes my ungloved hand into his own, softly this time- what? I'm so taken aback by this weird affection I only barely notice the blood flowing into my cheeks as they redden. Despite my awkward predicament, I force myself to face Popo, who's still looking at me with worry.

"What's that supposed to mean? Now you really do sound morbid." The question isn't asked as irritably as the previous one, a somewhat comforting gesture I briefly take note of.

I laugh nervously. "I think it's worth a try, Popo. But if anything happens, I'll be the one to fall for you." That remark only stuns him more, but before he can argue anything in return, I add, "Besides, lead climbers are supposed to be able to survive on their own. I'm sure you can-"

"You're wrong." Now he's shaking his head vigorously, like it'll make my words dissipate into the air.

"What? Hey-"

Popo pulls me towards him all of a sudden, he's tightly hugging me, holding me against his chest, his breathing heavy with apprehension as he realises what he's doing, but he carries on nevertheless. It perplexes me even further than earlier, everything happening around me like a blizzard, a whirlwind caging me and clouding me from any understanding I could have of the situation around me. I feel as if Popo will suspect even more of me if I don't respond, so I battle my trembles and return his embrace, nervously at first, but I feel my fondness sink deeper into our connection as we hug for longer.

"If climbers can survive on their own in the first place, then why do we get paired up with others?" he asks me quietly.

I give a little shrug, restricted by the tension of our embrace. "Support. Back-up. It's safer, but it's not necessary."

"You were right on the first thing you said."

"What?"

"Support."

I wish he'd stop being so mysterious and just tell me what he wants to say. Yet, as I think it over, I realise his mystery is what I adore much about my friend. I decide to let him carry on being a fascinating mystery, so I wait for him to speak again.

"I need you here for me as much as you need me here for you. Or, at least, I'd hope so," Popo chuckles. "For starters, there's sections of the glaciers we've scaled that I couldn't have accomplished alone. I'd be dead by now without you."

"I'd be bawling like a baby isolated in those caves without you to constantly ramble in my ears every hour of the day. Every day, I'd have let regret fill me to the brim and I wouldn't have cared if it spilled out. Because you wouldn't have been there to tell me."

"I wouldn't have known anything about this place, either. I wouldn't be as careful as you warned me to be when we arrived. I wouldn't notice the suspicions, the glares. You've been like a shield to me, so...let me be one for you too. A guy needs pride somewhere."

"Besides, newbies are meant to stick together." He's quoting me in that last sentence, except he isn't. He's twisting my despair into light.

At the same time, his touching speech, an anthem delivered straight from his heart, has me paralysed, unable to speak or move to reply. My lips won't form the words I want to return in exchange for what he's given me; Popo's always traded in reason. But my hands can't move to find the right payment.

I well I sort of well I don't know how to explain um I don't like I l-

My mind is plagued by a traffic of words, too many for me to handle or think about. There's no way I can tell him anything.

With as much reassurance as I can muster, I tighten my grip around Popo's body, a gentle squeeze. If I'm not careful, I'm going to cry, or scream, I don't know, but it's all going to fall down if I speak. I should learn to keep my mouth shut at times, Papa said once, when I was being a naughty little girl. Harsh words that I can now thank. But does he understand what I'm trying to say now, even though I'm silent?

"If we go, we're going together. Everywhere and anywhere, Nana."

I want to believe that he does.