A/N: Dear readers, yes, the title is supposed to be uncapitalized. It's sort of supposed to emphasize Jack's naivety and innocence. This'll be more stressed in later chapters.

End of chapter 7:

Bunnymund stood up, and tapped his foot on the ground. The feeling of being pulled through the magic portal was nauseating to Jack, but they landed in the dirt rather softly, and Bunnymund handed Jack's staff to him.

"Thanks," said Jack.

"Where are you headed?"

He shrugged. "Wherever the wind takes me."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Bunnymund had gone to do... whatever it was he did, and Jack stood alone with his staff as the snow and wind picked up. He jumped up high and flew away, light as a leaf. Burgess couldn't have been far, but Jack decided that they wouldn't take kindly to his presence. Instead of heading back home, he chose to do what he'd said before; follow the wind.

Jack shouted with delight as he made his way over the snow and deer in forests that were larger than he knew possible. The world never ended; he kept going and there was always more, always something new. He didn't know what cardinal direction he was headed, but that really didn't matter. Whenever the temperature rose a few degrees, he'd turn around and run in the sky to find a cooler place. It was all very beautiful, but he couldn't handle the heat. It was uncomfortable and belittling. He wanted to see flowers and colors but the ice didn't allow growth.

"Ahaaa!" Jack yelled out. He didn't let that dampen his spirits. "Jack Frost, evil snow spirit, coming down for some fuuuu-uuuun- oh, shi- OW!"

He landed roughly in a pile of dirt, falling back and groaning. "Oh, man," he muttered. "That was great."

A bruise developed on his head and it throbbed painfully, but Jack laughed despite himself. The sun was shining and the snow glittered like treasure. Jack suddenly remembered seeing children make a man of snow once (a "snowman," they'd said)—and Jack wanted one. He wanted to make his own snowman. Maybe with his magic staff it would come to life.

Before starting, Jack plopped some snow on top of his bruise to ease the pain, and then rubbed his hands together. This would be wonderful. He waved his staff and began to gather snow by simply sweeping with his staff and commanding it. Up, up, pile it up. The result was something of a miracle: a pile taller than his head and fatter than a cow. He jabbed the staff into the ground aside and worked the stack of flakes into a rather misshapen man, with lumps and bumps and no limbs.

"Sorry," he laughed, trying to smooth down the snow. It was a sad sight to behold; he thought perhaps to study other creations would help him concoct something magnificent. Right now, it was a pitiful mass of shame. He couldn't bring this to life. He'd have to practice, he'd have to mold other things.

"I'm gonna make you look good," Jack promised, and looked around for something to be an arm (preferably two). He was in the middle of arctic nothinigness, which meant no trees, no buttons, nothing. The only color for miles was a blue reflection of the sky and snow.

Jack cocked his head at his… child. He poked in two eyes and a mouth. It still wasn't complete. He looked down at his own chest and took in a deep breath. "Alright. Here we go, I'll just have to give you this," he said, and pulled off the cloak from his shoulders, draping it around the snowman's. He grinned. It smiled deafly back at him. The brown complimented everything about it in a sad little way.

"Jamie," he breathed, staring into the empty eyes. "It's a good name, right? I know eleven names. Jack, Bunnymund, Helga, George, Sophie, Abigail, Jamie, Gideon, Cyrus, Isaac and Mary. I think I should visit some more towns and learn more. You'll have brothers, Jamie... a hundred of them! A thousand! When I learn how to make snowmen, I'll come back here and resurrect you. How about that, huh? You'll be a tiny stump of snow but I'll build from that."

Jack wrapped his arms around the crude thing. It was gorgeously frosty. He inhaled and basked in the wonderful dusty smell of snow. That was one of his favorite things about the winter- the smell. He also loved the air, the sky, the pale sky that reflected his own eyes. Frozen lakes and hills, snowballs and flurries. Blue and white, white and blue, and everything in between. He pressed his lips to the snowman's forehead, which was even with his own.

"Promise," Jack said. "I'll come back."

He pulled away and stepped back to take it in. With the brown cloak, it looked complete. Jack pat Jamie the snowman's head and bid it farewell. He summoned the wind and left with his staff. The brown dot in white got smaller and smaller until he was too far away to see it anymore.

And with that, he forgot he had ever created such a beast.

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A/N: I approached this bit with Peter Pan in mind.

I just started writing chapter 14 and I'm running out of ideas. PM me ideas, leave them in reviews, whatever. We've got 300 years to kill. But I can't update as quickly without any content…I will let you know if I'll use the idea or not, and when. Thanks for reading.