Woo, got this done quicker than I thought I would! This chapter's pretty long, but I hope you enjoy reading it nonetheless~ I've been waiting to write this part for so long fhdjhjs

I'm also planning on rewriting a couple of the past chapters, so stay tuned for that too, I guess! Hopefully I can improve the writing in them qwq

He lay in wait just around the corner, ready to surprise her at any moment.

Any second now, she'd come strolling past. She was just in the corner of his eye.

And now...

"Boo!"

The poor girl shrieked with so much fright that she shocked even the boy, his plan now somewhat backfiring-

"What was that for?! That was really mean!" she cried, face and all angrily scrunched-up. Tears were almost forming in her eyes.

The boy shook his head. "I didn't think I'd scare you that much," he pouted, though with a small giggle in his voice. "I'm sorry."

"But I was gonna surprise you with this after!"

And with a smile, he produced a little snowdrop flower from his pocket, handing it to her.

"Can you forgive me?"

Three weeks.

Three long, strenuous weeks atop this hellish mountain.

Barely any other mountains in our entire region take this long to scale on average, and the longest trek Nana and I have been used to over the course of our journey is that of one week. That was difficult enough, what with our scarcity in supplies thanks to our underestimation of that peak's might. But put beside Icicle Mountain, that mountain climb may as well have been a mountain stroll.

Thankfully, our tedious ascent is coming to a close, and the summit is within clear sight – much to our reliefs. Though I have to admit my conscience isn't entirely at rest.

For one, I'm hugely annoyed that we didn't think of this sooner. If you calculate the sum of our time away from the village with our previous mountain climbs and our various detours, you get a scarily large number of days that I'm not proud to hear. By now the few pieces of sustenance we did retrieve from our first official climb and return to the village have definitely run out. It isn't that I don't trust (what little there is of) the leadership back home to reach out to our neighbouring civilisations for aid, of course – Gio isn't daft – but it's pretty hard to feel at rest at all when you remember that your people are at the risk of dire starvation this very second. And to think how we didn't think to target the condor's nest directly before all of this...I'd like to say that's where my anxieties end, but that's unfortunately not the case.

It was Nana's idea to make this journey, yet I'm the one constantly expressing my frustration over it. I suspect this might be the motive behind Nana's recent behaviour. To be fair, I'm just as annoyed at myself as she seems to be at me, and her attitude is nowhere near the last time her behaviour differentiated from the usual, but I find myself as puzzled as ever whenever I try to converse with her.

"Well, I know I came up with this and everything, but we only found out a bit later that this blasted mountain happens to be that thing's nest. That's not something most people know. We couldn't help it."

That had been her indifferent response when I first mentioned our lateness in pursuing this peak. I couldn't really have expected her to respond in any other way, knowing what she's like, but it did make me wonder what I did expect from her in the first place. It goes without saying that she's quite the unpredictable mind.

One minute, she's ranting at me about my sluggishness and complaining how oh so long I made her wait; the next, she's smiles and laughter all over again, her irritation seeming to have vanished into thin air in an instant. I can never quite tell what she's got in store for me each day. Maybe that's why we're friends.

"I can see a small cave up ahead," I holler to Nana below. "We can rest there in a second."

I can almost hear her eyes rolling in her reply. "But we're so close,"

"Only because we've been climbing non-stop for two hours."

She can't argue with that. And she knows it too.

"Okay, fine, but not too long."

Once I reach the flat at the top, I help Nana up, pulling at the rope to support her climb. We head over to the cave – if you could call it one, being more of a vague hollow slightly caved into the side of the mountain – and set our belongings down. Nana leans herself against the ice wall, tucking her knees up to her chest. She looks out into the distance wistfully.

I sit down beside her, hoping to start a conversation. We don't get much opportunity to talk while we're climbing, so now is as good a time as ever for me to confront her and see if she's willing to provide any answers.

But I can't help but hesitate for a moment as I ponder over what to say. Words are difficult to put together, you see. Putting them into sentences that aren't gibberish and nonsense is easier said than done – that, I can testify. It's not like weaving, where once you've gotten the hang of the pattern the threads and strings follow you can continue with no worries. Just keep repeating the threading pattern and you're presented with a spectacular piece of work at the end of it all, thanks to that tried and tested pattern that never fails you.

And you'd think by now that we wouldn't ever feel any awkwardness between each other, right? When you're friends with someone for as long as I've been with Nana, the words should just come naturally. Because you should know that person like the back of your hand, this person who's been by your side for all these years. It sometimes feels like despite knowing so much about my companion, she's still a complete mystery.

I sometimes wonder if she feels the same about me.

"So, how are you doing, then?" I ask her.

Nana turns her attention back to me, one eyebrow raised in confusion. "Huh?"

"I'm asking you a question."

"Yeah, I figured as much," she sighs. Her bangs are hanging over most of her face, so I can barely see the lilac hue of her eyes peeking out from behind them. They avoid my gaze, instead making more of an effort to avoid it. This is a red flag on its own.

I sidle a little closer to her. "Something on your mind again?"

When I take the time to reflect upon it, I realise how often this seems to have been happening. One or the other of us feeling tormented by the world and everything else that's happened in the past couple of months- no, that's what it is: how much has happened within the space of two months.

Three months ago, we both became another year older and relished in the bliss of life amongst those we loved and cared for. Strolling through the streets and roads we'd strolled through countless times in our lives, exchanging childish jokes with friends as we chattered, and grinning as we could hear gleeful laughter ringing through the village and its festivities; such lovely memories still ingrained into my mind. Just three months ago, everything seemed perfect, even if for only one moment.

Then two months ago, we watched as Nature herself strove to wreak havoc amongst our little world, stealing away anything and everything most dear to us. Lost families, lost friends, lost hope: two months ago, the world seemed to end as our journey began.

And only a month ago did we embark on this final mission, our last chance to find that hope again – for our sake, for their sake, for anyone's sake. One month ago, we took on the trial of Icicle Mountain, taking the risks at hand in stride.

Now we're here, having come so far away from home, but having flown so high to get to where we are now. Together. Despite the endless hurt and pain of it all these past three months, we're still together.

If there's one thing I haven't lost yet, it's her. And I don't plan on it any time soon.

Nana leans her head back a little to face me, her bangs parting like curtains as she shifts to reveal a weak smile. "Yeah, for the fifth time this whole journey," she scoffs. "Can't I have just one week where I'm not mourning or dealing with dumb emotions?"

"That's a big ask of you when you consider how much we've had to do, though."

She doesn't reply, seeming to frown at my answer. It's difficult to approach her when she's like this. She can be a hard nut to crack. My friend's stubbornness never fails to amaze me, but it does tell me when I have to step away and let her get on with whatever's spinning through her head.

"It's all going to be fine soon, Nana." I continue. "We're literally minutes away from the summit. All we have to do is take down that condor, grab the harvest and go!"

Nana's face contorts into one of slight confusion as if the cheer in my voice is something she's not accustomed to. But she just laughs for a brief moment, shaking her head.

"Yeah. We've had tons of practice against that thing anyway. Things might work out."

I get up, picking up my backpack and mallet from my side before I extend a hand to Nana, grinning.

"Not 'might'. They will. You said so yourself."

She takes my hand as she rises from the ground, meeting my gaze with that bemused face from earlier, though this time there's the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.

"When did I say that?"

Now it's my turn to scoff at her. "Come on, this is all thanks to you! Otherwise, we'd still be way below chasing after the condor in circles."

Indeed, part of our plan is to (ideally) snag the food while the condor is preoccupied with the next mountain we were due to pursue before this- well, it was our entire reasoning behind the plan, once Nana had explained it in more detail. But she seems to have forgotten most of that.

Nana sighs again, turning away to pick up her things from the ground.

"Don't give me all the credit, silly." She shakes her head disapprovingly again. "We're a team, right?"

I return a smile, taking her hand into mine.

"You know it."

The overwhelming pride from plunging the axe into the top of the final ice wall is indescribable.

Looking up, it's clear that there's nothing else past this ice. I can't see anything past this last ice wall, and as soon as I realise where we are, I let the sense of triumph set into me.

It's hard to resist the urge to make haste and just hop up to the surface above, as much as I'd love to – especially when the end is so near, so close and within reach. But I know well enough that this isn't the end yet.

"What are you waiting for up there? Let's conquer this bloody mountain once and for all!" Nana yells impatiently from below.

I nod, pulling myself up with my axe up and onto the surface, with Nana following behind me as I tug on the belay rope. After helping her up, I turn around to observe the peak's landscape.

The land is relatively flatter than what we've become accustomed to climbing the mountain's incredibly steep ice sheets, forming a small hill-like structure of snow in the centre. Great big icicles circle the entire landscape. The top of the snow hill is flattened only by an immensely large nest formed from some rocks and ice, all tangled together to cup our treasure in its hands-

sitting in the nest is none other than the harvest sack.

Neither of us is able to speak at first, still somewhat amazed at our very presence atop the mountain. I'm still trying to process the fact that we actually...we actually made it up this far. I can only gape open-mouthed at the sack a ways across from us, too frozen and shocked to be inclined to retrieve it immediately.

Nana and I turn to each other, exchanging awe-struck looks as we take the moment to acknowledge our ever-near success. I can't help but smile widely as I relish in our success. In the corner of my eye, I notice the corners of Nana's mouth lift almost as much as mine as we mirror each other's joy.

But we both also know the job isn't quite done yet. Ascending the mountain is just the first step in our mission.

Exchanging knowing nods, we make for the condor's nest.

"Last one there has to do the chores when we get home," Nana smirks, eyeing me thoughtfully.

I grin. "You're on."

We race towards the snow hill, mallets clutched between our hands for defence in case of an ambush. While the condor may well be waiting far below at one of the many smaller peaks circling Icicle Mountain to attack, it would do well to return to its home base to keep guard of what it had pillaged; it's certainly odd that the harvest is at its nest rather than wherever it is currently as before, but there's no time for questions.

Nana zooms ahead of me, a smug grin etched onto her face as she shoots me a glance as soon as she overtakes. We're approaching the slope up to the condor's nest now, which looks bigger than ever the closer we get to it – though, considering the condor's size, it's not surprising at all. The slope starts to get steeper and steeper as we scurry up the snow, but to no avail. Nana's earlier victory over me in our little race becomes a thing of the past as she slips against the ice underneath and finds herself rolling back down-

"Ow!"

...onto me.

As she tumbles onto me, I fall back headfirst onto the ground, cursing in pain as the rocks and ice beneath me strike my head. Dizziness ensues alongside a pleasant headache, and I wince attempting to pick myself up. When I can finally open my eyes, I'm faced with a seemingly-panicked Nana, albeit a blurred vision of her nervous frown, worried wide eyes and all.

"Popo, are you okay? I'm really sorry, I- I just, agh-"

She's doing her best to hold me up, clearly aware of my physical instability and fussing here and there for the sake of it. While it's quite nice and I appreciate her attention, I make the effort to get myself back into shape, brushing the powdery snow off of my parka.

"Nana, it's fine. It was just a-"

"No, it's not fine, I just checked!" she hisses. "There's a big bump on the back of your head. Tell me that's fine."

I shrug. "I'm sure it's not that bad. Besides, I'm okay-"

She doesn't wait for me to finish, instead huffing in frustration and pulling down my hood, inspecting my injury further. I attempt to push her off of me, insisting once again against the severity of my wounds-

"Agh!"

"See?" she says pointedly. Then she looks back down at her hands.

"There's literally blood coming out of your head, Popo," Nana says sternly, lifting the hand she checked me with up for me to see. Sure enough, her usually warm-brown leather gloves were stained with crimson, a sight I can't help but wince at.

I shake my head. "It's nothing a bandage won't fix." I reach for my mallet, scattered across a few metres from me. "If we get this done quickly, I'll let you deal with it as you insist."

Nana can only sigh in defeat, also moving to retrieve her own mallet. "Don't push yourself too hard when we go back down."

"I don't plan on it."

We turn back to the condor's nest behind us, only to find the "mound of snow" it had appeared to be sitting on to have disappeared: it hadn't solidified and had thus failed to support our climb up the hill, instead being brushed behind us as we'd hurried up. The nest is actually perched on a single tall pillar of ice that acts as some kind of pedestal – and it's not exactly something we can just walk up to.

Luckily, we came as a pair, then.

I turn to Nana. "Do you think a belay would work?"

She responds with a toss of our belay rope, already tying it around her waist. "Way ahead of you, buddy."

I don't stop to answer and immediately follow suit, attaching myself to her the same way we did with the Nitpicker incident not so many moons ago (a memory I still shudder at). Making our way back over to the nest, I grab hold of her.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she nods in affirmation.

I don't leave a second for hesitation and hurl her up with all the strength I can muster. To my relief, she lands much more neatly than before – and my own ascent following hers isn't as chaotic as it seemed the first time. Practice makes progress, I guess.

I land on the opposite end of the nest to Nana, who peeks behind from the enormous sack as soon as she notices my presence. We both take a moment to look at the harvest sack.

Nana is almost as appalled as she was when we first got up here. "I forgot how big it actually is."

Me too, Nana. But I do my best to play it optimistic and reply,

"Well, it's nothing a bit of teamwork can't handle."

Nana just laughs in disbelief. "I think you miiight be overestimating my strength in comparison to yours, Popo."

"Maybe I am. But it's better than me carrying it on my own, don't you think?"

She grins. "Oh, of course. I'm not that mean, you know." After sizing the sack up one more time, she wraps her hands around the top of it, glancing back at me to signal for help. I put my hands around the bag just above her own pair.

"Right. Let's get this back down-"

A great gust of wind whirls past us, intense enough to whisk us away to the very edges of the nest in an instant. Nana screams as we're swept away, that fearful, panicked look returning to her eyes. The stupendously heavy sack is the only thing that stops us from being blown off of the summit; my grip on it is waning, no matter how hard I clutch at it. And Nana's hands are also slipping away – even after I manage to clasp them with my own, the two of us are barely hanging on, flying in the wind like two flimsy flags on a pole.

It's hard for me to open my eyes when each time I do I'm met with stabs of ice and snow. As if the shivers on my skin aren't enough already. Even my parka fails to withstand the fierce cold roaring against my ears, and the shivers crawl up to my spine.

Yet the one look I'm able to seize shows me exactly what I expect.

"Hisssss!"

Its cry echoes across the mountain to no end, screaming and howling as intensely as its frosty winds. This is nothing like before.

"Popo!"

I can hardly see Nana, her entire figure almost coated white by the tornado of snow surrounding us. The tears streaming from her eyes barely have the time to fall before they become the very ice shards riding the current in the snowstorm, millions of them cutting like daggers deep into our skin as they whirl past.

The mallets. My stomach sinks as I realise we've left them below in our efforts to obtain the harvest. Looking up again, I can make out the silhouette of the great condor gradually increasing in size as it approaches the nest. Its colossal wings swoop past in a great flurry, ultimately whisking us away with the storm.

I let go.

In a matter of seconds, I'm in the air tumbling and turning amongst the plethora of debris in the tornado – rocks, twigs, terrifyingly large branches, all under the hand of the beastly condor. My lungs ache for air, yet I'm gasping and choking in an entire swirl of it. The snow roars.

"N...Nana-!"

A dot of pink flashes past amongst the storm, whirling around as fast – if not, faster – than my own body in the storm.

The rope's snapped.

I shut my eyes tightly again, praying and begging for it to just stop, make it stop and go away-

"Hisssss…!"

I almost sigh with relief when the winds start to relax as the beast disappears into the distance, though it doesn't stop them from jumping at the chance to fling me onto the side of one of the icicles surrounding the summit. The spike of pain seems to impale my head, stinging awfully as I'm violently smashed against the ice. With barely any air left in me, I can't even bring myself to scream.

Like a lump of dead meat, I start to slide down the ice, unable to command any movement of my own. I can't open my eyes; it hurts too much. I don't even know where Nana is. All I can do is hope she's gotten away, that she's anywhere but here, that she's safe.

By some miracle, my limbs are yet to have (completely) become disabled, so I muster the strength I have left to raise myself back up once I hit the ground. I never thought something as simple as standing up would feel so taxing – the whirlwind's taken its toll on me, clearly – yet with a hard enough push, I slowly manage. My legs are shaking and my vision is barely clear, but it's enough for me to be able to spot the mallets stranded from their previous spot. It's a miracle in itself that the chiko wood survived the storm in the first place.

I start to make my way back to the nest hill, running as fast as I can (i.e: not very fast) for the mallets, my last chance at fighting this thing off. While I'm at it, I try to scan the area for Nana, even just the slightest trace of her. But that bright shade of pink is nowhere to be found.

"SSSSSSSS!"

My head snaps back up to the sky, finding the shadow of the condor towering over me once again. I make for my mallet instantly, managing to reach for it just as I've been spotted, and I grab onto it firmly, preparing myself for what's to come.

The beastly bird darts towards the ground, its hissing growing sharply louder as it gets nearer to me. I remain stubborn, preserving my stance and clutching my mallet tightly. I can't back down. Not yet.

"HIIIIISSS-!"

Here goes.

"SssSSS- SCREEEEEE!"

With one hefty swing, I bash my mallet into the side of the condor's head, sending it ramming into a nearby icicle wall. It's a move I should be used to executing by now considering our past battles with the condor – more often than not, it was enough to put the wretched thing off attacking us again, and would often scare it away. But this is different.

The blow from my mallet isn't enough to take out the condor. It frantically flaps its wings again, only more erratically, and its flight is jagged and wonky compared to its smooth descent from earlier. Though I don't doubt that I've won myself a small advantage over it, I know I shouldn't underestimate what power it can still manifest, if any. I'm not sure if I should be expecting another snow tornado.

I also still need to find Nana. If she's still on the mountain.

The condor doesn't try to attack me again, its flight still unstable, instead swooping back up to the nest above me. To my surprise, the harvest bag is still neatly planted in the same place we left it, secure in the bird's roost. The whole nest appears to be completely unaffected by the whirlwind from before. Its owner hovers shakily above it, furiously guarding what it's stolen and shrieking loudly if I so much as look towards it.

For the moment, I'm unsure of what to do next. I can't reach the nest without Nana, and my ropes are useless without her; it's for this reason exactly that we're a team – that any climber's in a team. I look pretty dumb staring up at the sky alone as I anticipate the condor's next move.

It lets out an excruciating screech. It echoes out and across the mountain range for miles, so loud it's almost earsplitting. I tug at my hood in a measly attempt to block out as much of the awful noise as I possibly can. My ears feel like they're going to bleed.

But the screeching doesn't end with the condor. No, it gets worse.

A chorus of cries and screeches crescendo behind me, joining in with their master's cry. I turn to see an overwhelming flock- no, a flurry of Nitpickers, forming the cacophony of dissonant screams. It's like some kind of lucid nightmare I'm living in right now. There's no other way to describe it.

The flurry of Nitpickers finally shut up when the condor ceases its cry, and all eyes are on me.

"HISSSSSS!"

Wonderful.

The moment the condor blares out its war cry once more, its minions immediately zoom over, their leers locked dead on their target. A burst of pink is headed my way, but it's not the pink I want to see, nor the pink that's of much help to me. Uncertainly, I prepare my mallet once more. Getting rid of some of them is better than none, I guess.

They're like arrows, the blasted things. Almost like mini condors. They come shooting and swaying past in an instant, ready to entangle me in their grasp. The aimless swinging of my mallet isn't doing much to alleviate this. Before I know it, I'm in a chaotic bubble of pink wings, circling round and round and round and-

"Squawk-!"

I blink. A wave of ice sweeps across, just by my feet, forming a sheet of ice that cuts across like a blade. It splits the bubble, knocking into some of the Nitpickers and tailing after them as it follows them around. The pink bubble is no sooner than later a big round ice wall, most of its composition comprising frozen bird bodies. I shudder, trying not to be too disturbed.

"Popo!"

Blink again and a familiar face stands before me (well, more accurately, on the other side of the ice), scruffy braids and bangs poking out of her hood to complement her wide-eyed gaze. I rush over to her, shattering the ice out of the way before I pull her into a tight embrace.

"Nana- you're alive, you're-"

"Yeah, I'm right here. I'm here, Popo. Calm down. I'm here." She hugs me almost as tightly, though I sense her worry.

I shake my head, still in awe. "You're...how did you- where were you? Where did you go? Why-"

"I almost got blown off the mountain," she interrupts. "I had to climb a bit of the way back here-"

"Alone?!"

"What other choice did I have?! It was hard enough, climbing when I felt like my legs were about to fall off," she snaps. "I had to take cover behind one of those icicle things for a bit to recover. But I couldn't see you anywhere, honestly. I only realised where you were when those Nitpickers came out of nowhere."

I open my mouth to respond, but close it again, somewhat at a loss for words. As much as I hate to admit it, I underestimated Nana's climbing abilities (though neither us have actually climbed alone before).

I sigh. "I'm just glad you're safe, Nana."

"I'm glad you're still here too, Popo," Nana smiles. "Well, you're still here because I saved you. You owe me one." She smirks, nudging me playfully.

I owe her a lot more than she thinks.

I grin back. "I'll pay you back later, don't worry-"

The ground rumbles. We turn our gazes back to the nest and its owner, bellowing before us with that unbearable screeching yet again, howling and crying louder than ever.

Nana gulps beside me. "I don't think it's very happy we just killed its army."

"No, me neither." I pick my mallet back up, noticing the condor's increased charisma. The blow to the head from earlier didn't disable it as much as I thought. I turn back to Nana.

"Have you got yours?"

She seems taken aback by the question at first, but looks around in search of her weapon. It's nowhere to be seen.

Despite this, she's relatively dismissive about the matter, shrugging,

"I'll manage. I've got ice on my side, remember?"

To make up for her lack of defence, she manifests a small dagger out of ice instead. It isn't as fragile as it might sound, especially if it's something made by Nana. It reminds me of the jab of pain in my head from earlier.

"Hissss!"

The condor, now more than capable of flight, starts to rise into the air, preparing a grand manoeuvre against us. I move so that I'm in front of Nana, ready to defend and attack. My mallet, still stained with some of the blood from the Nitpickers, waits patiently to attack once again.

"Are you gonna smack it on the side again?" she asks me.

"What else could we do?"

For a moment, she purses her lips, lost in thought. Then her eyes light up as the flame within her ignites.

"We could get on it and attack it from there," she suggests, pulling more rope from her backpack.

Past me, if you can hear me, thanks for the spare ropes.

I take the ends of the ropes she hands me into my own. "You mean, mount it? Like, try to ride it?"

In hindsight, it's not a bad idea, though it'd be difficult to execute. There's no doubt it wouldn't be easy to get anywhere near the damn bird without it quite literally blowing us away, and what we have over it in weaponry we lose in aerial ability, put simply. There's only so many times we'd be able to belay – a technique we've practised twice. When it comes to a life-or-death situation like this, though, as Nana said, there's not much choice.

"We can belay up and grab onto its claws or something. Preferably its' back, but the claws will do. One of us can attack from there too." she explains, cautiously glancing from time to time at the condor in the sky.

I nod. "Sounds like a good plan."

If we can get high enough, that is.

By the time we're finished securing the belay ropes between us, the condor's begun its swift descent towards us, its foreboding shadow coming into the light as it approaches us. It squawks raucously the closer it gets.

I firmly grasp Nana's waist, ready to launch her into the air, mallet in my other hand.

"Throw me when I tell you to," she tells me. "It's almost here."

The condor is within clear view now, its obnoxiously bright orange beak growing ever larger the closer it gets. Those husky, feathery wings blow the snow beneath us away as if it were merely light sugar; the gusts of wind grow intense, then-

"Now!"

Nana soars into the air with a throw of my hands, frosty blade in hand as she reaches for the condor's figure. The bird fails to anticipate our movement, but reacts quickly enough to flinch away from her desperate grasp, and her hands meet the air instead. I hear her curse viciously under her breath before I'm launched in turn after her. She looks up, a gleam of hope in her eyes as we briefly exchange glances, and cries:

"Take it down, Popo!"

I turn back only to find that I'm on a collision course with the condor, so close that I can see the myriads of scales and feathers decorating its body. It shrills violently as soon as we meet eyes and contracts, abruptly backing away from my desiring grip. I reach out as far as I can, gliding higher into the air light as a feather.

I latch onto the condor's claws.

"HIIIISSSSSS!"

The condor begins to sink with our weight underneath, flapping its wings violently and hopelessly trying to shake me off. But I hold on, refusing to let go. Not when we're so close. I can't let the little energy I have left go to waste after all we've been through to get here.

After all the quarrels and laughter, all the fighting and teasing, all the climbing and falling, all the ice and snow we've skated and slipped on to get to the top of this mountain, what good would it do to throw it all away? To disregard our efforts and work, to forget this entire journey and the paths and roads we took to arrive? For everything we've battled, it can't end like this. It just can't.

I won't let it go.

I feel the strength draining away from my arm as I tire of gripping the condor so tightly. With my other hand full, there's nothing else I can do to support myself. My hand starts to slip away.

I gasp, fighting for air once again as the condor attempts to bring us higher, where the air's so much thinner than it already was below. Shivering, I struggle to hang on for any longer, my own lower body aching from carrying Nana's weight as she hangs below me on the rope.

My whole body quivers uncontrollably. "Nana…! I'm- I'm gonna have to let go in a second-"

"No. You won't."

All the while, the condor continues to hiss and screech, voicing its exasperation.

"I don't have the strength to hold on! I don't have a choice-"

"No!"

I look back down to face Nana, a forlorn look now replacing her determined smirk from seconds ago. She shakes her head furiously.

"Listen to me, Popo. You're gonna climb up, higher onto the condor, and kill it from there. On its back. Do you hear me? That's the only way-"

"My hand's slipping!" I shout back. "We're not going to make it up here, Nana!"

Anyone hearing that with their senses still intact would agree. High up who knows how many metres in the sky, hanging helplessly at the mercy of a terrifying creature, evidently moments away from the release of death – what chance of survival do we have?

That's how Nana should respond. She should know we don't stand a chance anymore. Making it up here is as far as we were going to get. But she doesn't do that.

She just smiles that sweet, reassuring, smile she always smiles, and replies,

"We aren't, but you are."

The rope's cut.

I open the door and let myself in, cleaning the snow off my boots as I enter the house.

"I'm home."

"Welcome back, dear," I hear a familiar voice call from the kitchen. There's the delicious smell of vegetable stew wafting through the air, and I'm reminded of how hungry I am again.

My mother peeks her head out from behind the kitchen door, beaming.

"Guess what I'm making?" she winks.

I smile back. "It smells really good," I remark, taking off my parka and hanging it up on the pegs. After getting out of my boots, I make my way over to the source of the flavourful aroma, eager and still bursting with energy despite the long day.

"How was your day, Popo?" Mom asks. "Spent most of it with Nana, I assume?"

"Miko and Riko were there, too," I frown. "It wouldn't be fair if we went off without them. They're our friends too."

She chuckles. "Of course."

I sigh to myself, emptying the contents of my satchel onto the table. Today the travelling market from Dewar arrived in Yukino, so the four of us had decided to take a look, just like every other year. Dewar's located in the area of Taimo that (oddly) gets more sun than snow, so its warmer climate allows for some particularly curious flora and exotic treasures to spawn around it; the village's merchants more often than not take great advantage of this and bring their goods around the region to show them off. It works, because not many of us born in Yukino get to leave it as often as we'd like to – well, not at our age, anyway – to see these magnificent treasures for ourselves. The almost year-round winter in this part of the region doesn't help that predicament.

I bought a various selection of treasures from the market today: mysterious orbs that shine in all sorts of beautiful colours; a peculiar kind of flower called a mycellum that's a joyful shade of pink; a few candies in some interesting-sounding flavours (seasoned with "only the most wonderful spices", according to the vendor), and a magnificent brooch with a deep blue gem encased in it, one that glistens like the aurora lights that come once a year. The brooch, in particular, appealed to me a lot because of that crystal, and even though the others thought I was crazy for willing to spend as much money as I did on it, it was worth my savings for what I'm keeping it for.

Mom eventually takes notice of my noisy clattering on the table, turning around to see what I'm doing.

"Those from the market?"

I nod. "People from Dewar came by. They had cool stuff like these," I reply, gesturing to the goods I bought.

While the stew continues to boil, she comes over to where I'm sitting by the table to inspect the little trinkets further, eyeing them with interest.

"Pretty glamorous things, aren't they?" she remarks, picking up a few of the orbs.

"Well, they do say Dewar is the village of hidden wonders."

Her attention is then drawn to the brooch.

"What did you get this for?" she laughs.

I shrug, looking back down at the rest of my purchases. "It just looks pretty. I thought it'd be a nice gift for Nana's next birthday."

"Ah, that's why." A small giggle escapes her lips as she hands the brooch back to me.

Cue the teasing.

Mom finally returns to the cooking pot, a playful grin on her face. "I dare say, I thought Nana preferred the colour pink, didn't she?"

"That's what I thought too, but I saw her looking at it."

"Perhaps it reminds her of you."

I don't reply, refusing to give in to my mother's mischief. It only started sometime after Nana and I began to get older – older by Yukinoan standards being past the age of ten – but it's hard for me to tell whether she means what she says or if she genuinely finds pleasure in tormenting me with my relationships or something. Even if I didn't have any close friends that were girls, I know my mother is the kind of parent that would go out of her way to set me up for no reason other than to follow the marriage traditions and establish a relationship for me. Not that it's something that's generally mattered much to me.

"You know, for someone who's just a 'good friend' of hers, you do seem to mention her very often."

I groan. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mom's head whips around, only for her to give me a cheeky smirk before returning her attention to the cooking. It seems to be done, since the smell of the more uncooked vegetables has disappeared, and the usually gentle bubbling has crescendoed to a chorus of babbles as it boils. She takes a portion of the stew into a bowl, handing it to me as I push my things aside.

"I'm just saying she seems to be on your mind a lot of the time."

"That doesn't mean I like her like that," I protest. This is a conversation I've had too many times with my mother, to the point where it feels scripted. It's like a daily routine. Over the years, Nana has also become as accustomed to it as I have, though she tries not to say much on the matter.

This time, though, Mom just sighs with more exasperation than usual. I feel her steely stare boring into me, giving me no choice but to look up at her.

"You really are an oblivious young man, aren't you, Popo?"

I decide to return my attention to the much more interesting bowl of stew.

She sighs again. "You're just like your father when he was as young as you are."

"Well, you weren't friends-turned-lovers or anything, were you? You said it yourself. You had an arranged marriage."

"That doesn't mean I didn't like him like that," she quips, mimicking my rebut. "And we did know each other a little before we got married." She chuckles again. "He had no idea he was so popular, though. It was quite funny."

I continue to concentrate on the stew again, pondering over how to reply.

Telling her we're just friends like we are is pointless, since she readily denies it. I even once lied that Nana had a boyfriend just to get Mom off my back for a bit, but that fell apart when I forgot to tell Nana about it and she ended up denying it. Some way or another, my mother always finds a way to bring a lot of conversation back to the topic of Nana. You're the one that started it, dear. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her, irritated as I might be.

"Even if I liked her, it wouldn't work out, you know. She only sees me as a friend," I explain. "And so do I."

Mom only hums curiously in response, expressing her suspicions once again.

I carry on. "And I just think about her a lot because of that. It's normal to be worried about your friends, isn't it?" I take another spoonful of stew into my mouth while I await her answer, certain that she can't argue with my statement. If she could just appreciate the beauty of friendship alone…

"My point exactly. You don't mention Miko or Riko nearly as much as you mention Nana."

I look back up at her, putting on my best-annoyed face to see if I can get my point across. At this, she simply raises an eyebrow and continues her lecture.

"Don't think I'm saying all of this just for fun, dear. I pay attention to your behaviour quite a bit. Everyone else does too, you know. They wouldn't say anything otherwise, would they now?"

I can only grimace upon hearing that. Dealing with my mother is more than enough, let alone my classmates. This, Nana can sympathise with – though she's significantly better at handling their comments face-to-face than I am. I tend to make my best attempts to ignore them instead.

My peers aren't nearly as annoying as my mother is about the matter, much to my relief - some say nothing at all, aware that the two of us will only deny any suspicions; the ones who still think it funny to make kissy noises if we so much as breathe in the other's direction are the main concern, if anything. Childish, you might say. But I can't help but cringe at myself whenever anybody suggests the possibility of anything like that happening between me and my best friend.

It's difficult to describe, but it's embarrassing, thinking about that kind of stuff and then connecting it to her. It's like a line that shouldn't be crossed – that can't be crossed – between Nana and I. It's ice between us that's not made to melt. Friends like us are destined to find our own destined elsewhere, anywhere but in each other. It doesn't work like that. Like my mother says herself, 'good friends don't always make a good couple'. Good friends is all we'll be. I came to accept that a long time ago.

I haven't got a choice but to get rid of any thoughts suggesting otherwise.

"I see the way you smile at the very thought of her. The way you look at her when she's talking about anything, or how your eyes glow when you notice her enter the room. How invested you get in conversation with her, even about the most mundane things. Her very existence overjoys you, and you know it."

Please don't say it. I don't want to hear it.

"Do you know what's happened to you, Popo?"

I force myself to look away, anywhere but into that watchful stare, something to hide away in instead.

I don't want to hear it.

Don't tell me.

Don't say it.

"..."

A hand gently pats my shoulder. You can almost hear the knowing grin in her voice.

"You've gone and fallen in love without even realising it."