She cannot pinpoint the moment she begins to thaw. It is a slow, glacial melt. The hoarfrost on her fur drips away. Those cold parts of her slip from her as water, so gently she does not even feel it. She is no longer a sculpture, no frozen statue. Smokefang drove the heat in her heart away, and turned her to glass. Strongclaw reignites it, in secrecy, in conspiracy. It's too bad she has to die, warm and broken in the meadow. Too bad he falls before he too can freeze. Too bad the one left knows only how to melt, how to thaw, but not how to disappear.