The howling wind mocked her. It was relentless, slamming into her and hindering her movement like an excited puppy. The snow surrounded her, trying to encase her in an icy prison, and each step was harder than the last, as though her very muscles were freezing. The Freljordian mountains were treacherous, and though she'd seen the storm before it had arrived, five minutes was not enough time to escape its path, or even to find shelter – not when the landscape was a white, rolling blanket.

Her next step sank into the snow deeper than she'd been prepared for, and a swear escaped her chapped lips as she stumbled forward. Just when she thought she'd found a safer path, she'd been proven wrong. She crawled forward on her hands and knees for awhile, until the cold seeped through her clothing. It was then that she collapsed, and it was another few minutes before she laughed.

She couldn't die. That would be silly. So soon, after Caleb's death, when there was still so much to do? No, she had already decided death was unacceptable, and she would fight it every step of the way. Ultimately, it would all be pointless if she eventually died, so she would need to win – to defeat death, or Death, if he existed – for her life to have any meaning.

This was only a minor setback.

Determination brought her back to her feet. Her eyes scanned the vicinity. It was nothing but a featureless, white canvas. Where had she been going before the storm swept everything away? In what direction was north, and the South which she so desperately desired?

She picked a direction, and continued on.

The cold of the snow soaked through her gloves, and her wet fingers brought her back to reality, where it took a moment to process the howling noise and realize the wind hadn't relented. She was laying down, in a trench of snow which might have been a glacier river during another season. Dragging herself out of the trench was more of a struggle than she expected, as the blizzard blinded and disoriented her, causing her to fall back into the pit several times.

Finally, out of the trench, she reoriented the world and shook off a layer of snow that had accumulated on her clothing. The storm wouldn't last forever, but she wouldn't either. Looking around, she couldn't tell where she'd come from, and certainly didn't know where she was going, but it didn't take much deliberation before deciding to follow the trench, to see where it might lead.

Quinn fought against the snow, kicking one foot forward after another. Toes frozen, fingers frozen, probably eyelashes and hair, too. The only way to tell how long had passed since the last time she'd fallen was by the accumulated snow on her hood, which she shook off whenever the thought occurred to her, and even then it was hard to tell because the snow joined the rest of the blizzard to fall onto the endless white beneath her feet.

Against all odds, someone called her name.

She spun around, but could only see a couple meters forward. White flakes whipped her face, and she pulled her hood tighter. Bringing a hand up to her forehead, as though to block the sun's rays, she gazed out, against the whiteness. It was a feeble gesture. She should start backtracking, to find whomever was calling her. A chance at being saved. Yet before she could begin to retrace her steps in the snow, her mind forced reality back onto her. There couldn't be anyone else on these mountains – and most definitely not someone who knew her name.

She was alone.

Quinn opened her eyes. Some time had passed, but the howling wind still called her name.

She was curled up in a ball, her head burrowed as deep as possible into the snow and away from the weather. When she tried standing up and found it difficult, she told herself that her limbs were stiff. They weren't frozen – that simply wasn't possible. Demacian weather would never get that cold.

And where was she? Behind the school?

She was supposed to go home. It was impossible to tell what time it was, but it was probably late. Her family would be waiting for her, around the dinner table. Caleb didn't like postponing supper. Especially on pasta night. She would need to stand up and start the long trek home, so she could apologize and they could all sit down together and eat. That was what Quinn had to do.

Pushing herself to her knees, she caught sight of her hands. She was wearing gloves, and her hands were shaking, as though she had a nervous twitch. Why? Quinn began to pull off her gloves, struggling with a faltering grip.

Two more hands appeared in her sight, stopping her from removing her gloves. She only had two hands, as far as she knew, so they certainly couldn't have been hers. Bracing herself, she looked up. An unfamiliar face stared down at her. Someone new to Everridge? It was a young woman who clasped Quinn's hands in her own. She spoke gentle words, but it wasn't in a language Quinn knew. For a moment, she thought the girl was bald, but then her eyes recognized the girl's hair against the snowy backdrop. Long, white strands, buffeted by the wind.

Quinn couldn't understand what she saw, or why she was seeing it, and she began to wonder if maybe she wasn't somewhere near Everridge, and things weren't all fine after all, and that she should put forth some effort to fix her situation. With surprising strength, the woman pulled Quinn to her feet, but by then it was too late. Quinn couldn't muster the energy, and she stumbled and fell forward to embrace the pure white scenery.

Waking up was usually an unpleasant process. She would be sore, from the ground she slept on, and cold from the lack of blankets, and her stomach would immediately start to grumble, wanting something more than meat and vegetables scavenged from the lands. But this time it was different. She felt a giant weight on her chest, as though buried by an avalanche. Her arms were at her side and she struggled for a moment to bring them up to her head. It wasn't snow she was buried by, but rather fabric. Soft cotton. Blankets. Warmth. With this realization, she calmed a little.

She could hear something – and it wasn't the Freljordian winds. Instead, it was the warm sound of a crackling fire. A fire that was weak, though – she could tell just by listening that it was struggling to stay lit, starving for more fuel.

Quinn was alive, though, for all her foolishness. And she had dreamt of Everridge, and of her family, for the first time in months. That had been an unnecessary dream, and she forced her eyes open again, unwilling to fall back into it.

She saw wood. Horizontal, and stacked high. She rolled over. There was a log ceiling, log walls, and a log floor.

"Cabin?" Quinn mumbled to herself.

"You're awake?" a voice said. "Good. I was worried."

Quinn pushed herself into a sitting position, shrugging aside the mountain of blankets that covered her body. She stared at the only other occupant in the small room. It took a moment to extract reality from dream before she recognized the girl as the one who had found her, after being caught in the blizzard. She had come so close to death, only to meet a beautiful stranger on a mountain which no one should have been near.

The girl had snow white hair, and though it was Quinn that had been the one to nearly freeze to death, the girl's lips were startlingly pale as they curved upwards into a cautious smile. Wrapped around her body, a white blanket like one of the ones that had been piled on Quinn.

She'd been saved by a ghost?

The ghost diverted her eyes, making Quinn realize that she, too, should have had a blanket wrapped around her. She was naked. Quinn flung herself behind the pile of blankets on her bed. Quickly picking one out – a pale blue one with a snowflake pattern – she wrapped it around her body and sat up again.

"Wha – what am I doing here?" Quinn said. Her throat was parched, and speaking was hard.

"You don't remember?" the ghost-like girl said. "That blizzard came in faster than water freezes."

"The blizzard?" Quinn said. "I – I remember. Then, you saved me? Brought me here?"

"Pretty much. We're probably the only two people on the mountain."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," the girl said before pulling the blanket tighter around her body. "My name is Ashe, by the way."

"I'm Quinn."

She looked around the cabin. It was small. One room, no bathroom or kitchen. The fireplace, as she'd heard when she first woke up, was dying. Aside from the bed that Quinn was sitting on, there were two giant chunks of logs, meant to act as chairs, and a couple cupboards mounted on the wall. A very practical shelter. After analyzing the room, she turned her attention back to Ashe, who began poking at the dying fire with a stick.

"Well, Quinn, our clothes are nearly dry."

Quinn looked at the ground next to the fire, seeing her jacket, pants, and wool socks for the first time. Her crossbow and dagger were propped up against a wall nearby, too.

"What-" Both girls started talking at once, before quickly breaking off.

"You first," Quinn quickly said.

Ashe smiled. "What were you doing out on the mountain?"

"Being stupid," Quinn admitted. "I was looking for something."

"Something? Something you lost? Were you alone?"

"No and yes."

"That is pretty stupid. I seriously thought you wouldn't make it," Ashe said. "You were practically frozen. How are your limbs?"

Quinn wiggled her toes experimentally, then counted off her fingers. "They're all fine."

"Impressive," Ashe said. "Not even frostnip. I guess – wait... you – are you?"

She was motioning to Quinn's hair, and Quinn quickly ran a finger through it. It was dry, but she wasn't sure how long had passed since she'd been dragged into the cabin.

"Am I what?" Quinn said suspiciously.

"Purple hair," Ashe whispered. "Are you a descendant of the Himiko tribe?"

Quinn frowned and shook her head. "Never even heard of 'em."

"Oh," Ashe said, her voice returning to normal volume. "Boring. Though I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. If you were, you'd have sent that storm scurrying." She knelt down and touched the nearest piece of clothing with the back of her hand. "I'm afraid this is as dry as we're going to get. Unless we want to burn down the cabin, we're out of wood. Are you cold?"

Quinn shook her head.

"Thirsty?"

"A little," she said. It was an understatement. Her throat was so dry she thought it more likely she would die of dehydration than exposure to the elements.

Ashe stood up, letting the blanket wrapped around her fall off. She, too, only wore her undergarments. Had she not been prepared for the mountain either? It seemed like they were in the same boat. Ashe retrieved a bowl next to the fire and brought it over.

She handed it to Quinn, who nearly spilled it.

"Tell me how it tastes," Ashe said as she began to dress. Quinn brought the unwieldy bowl to her lips. "Bison urine has important nutrients. You ever try it before?"

Mid sip, Quinn choked on the lukewarm liquid, spilling some down her chin and onto her blanket.

Ashe burst out laughing. "I kid, I kid!"

"What kind of joke is that?" Quinn said, giving her the evil eye but quickly returning to the bowl. It was water, as far as she could tell, and even if had been urine - well - she was pretty thirsty.

"Sorry," Ashe said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "I've had a pretty monotonous past few days. But man, are you one lucky girl. Me finding you out there, I can't even begin to guess at the odds." She put the fire poker aside, giving up on the embers and ashes. "So – can I ask – how old are you?"

"Thirteen."

Lifting her head high and bringing a fist to her chest, Ashe grinned. "Aha. I'm three years your senior."

"Aha," Quinn responded in kind after a moment's thought. "You're going to die three years before me."

Ashe laughed. "I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that. It would be pretty boring if it did."

Quinn cracked a smile. "Boring isn't always bad," she said.

"Let me get your story straight. You're thirteen years old, wandering the Freljordian mountains alone, obviously a foreigner-"

"How do you know I'm a foreigner?" Quinn said.

"It's obvious," Ashe said in a condescending tone. "You said it yourself – you've never even heard of the Himiko tribe. Every Freljordian has. And you don't look like someone who's grown up in the North. Now – thanks a lot – I forget what I was saying."

"My story isn't important," Quinn insisted.

"Right. Your story. Thirteen, foreigner, in Freljord alone – during the worst season – and looking for something?"

"It's stupid," Quinn said, moving to the edge of her bed and setting the empty bowl on the ground. "I heard some rumours. A magical artifact that was supposedly detected somewhere around here. Thought I could find it and sell it, make some money."

"And what do you need money for?"

"I don't know," Quinn said sarcastically. "Maybe to live?"

"You don't need money to live. I don't have money, and I'm doing just fine. I can hunt for my food and have all the water I ever need around me."

A modest life, Quinn observed. "I'd rather a diet beyond meat and wild plants. And bolts don't last forever – I need money to buy new ones whenever I go into town."

Ashe moved to the door and picked up a short bow which was leaning against it. "That's why you use this," she said, lifting it up. "You can fashion your own arrows, and maintenance is super easy. The bow is far superior to the crossbow."

Something about the way she spoke bothered Quinn. "Bows are for the weak. You need to be strong to use a crossbow."

Ashe eyes narrowed as she flexed her bow. "Crossbows are loud. You'll alert your target before the bolt even hits."

"Bows-" Quinn hesitated. In truth, the only reason she used a crossbow was because that's what she had on hand. She had more experience with bows, but it was always crossbows that were available to her. "Bows suck."

Ashe set her bow aside, apparently satisfied. "Maybe – or maybe you're just too set in your ways. You should give a bow a try, I bet you'd like it. But besides that, aren't you a little young to be providing for yourself?"

It seemed like Ashe would be bringing up the age card a lot.

"I moved out already."

"You're from Noxus?" Ashe asked, after a pause.

"Demacia."

"Oh. The other kingdoms really are different. There's no way someone could survive on their own out here."

Quinn followed Ashe, stepping outside of the cabin. A small cry of disbelief escaped her lips.

"I thought we were in a village," she said, turning in a full circle to see her surroundings.

"Nope, sorry. Like I said, the only two people on the mountain."

"Then where in the world are we?"

"I'm actually not too sure," Ashe admitted with a carefree shrug of her shoulders. "Somewhere three days hike from my tribe, and hopefully only another day to our neighbours."

"That's pretty vague," Quinn complained. "You never said – what exactly are you doing out here? You don't live here, do you?"

Ashe grimaced. "Ugh. No way. We're still pretty high up in the mountains – only the most hardcore of Freljordians would be able to survive long up here. I'm here on my trial."

"Trial?"

"Wow," Ashe said with a laugh. "You really don't know anything about Freljord, and yet you still came up here. You're crazy."

"Help me be less crazy, then."

"The trial is an Avarosan tradition," Ashe said. "It's optional, but you can only begin it on your sixteenth birthday – mine was three days ago. You leave the village, and you have ten days to return with a noteworthy achievement."

"Noteworthy achievement? I don't get it."

"It's a way of showing your value to the tribe. It can be something like defeating a dangerous monster, retrieving a magical artifact, making trade deals, or improving relations between tribes – most girls who do the trial find themselves a husband. You know what they say: money, magic, and marriage make the world go 'round."

"Then – then you're going to get married?"

Ashe looked away. "I hope not. That's as a last resort. I'm going to try my luck with our neighbours, see if we can't reopen a line of communication. A couple years back some trade deals went awry and since then there's been nothing but bad blood between us. We have the best weapon smiths in the region, and they have fertile farms. Everyone needs weapons and food, so it seems like a good shot."

"I still don't get it though. Why bother with this trial in the first place, if it's optional?"

"Right – I forgot to say the most important part," Ashe said, stepping away from the cabin and breaking into the fresh two foot high snow. "Only those who successfully complete the trial are viable candidates to succeed the chieftain. I'm here so that one day I can become chief."

"Chief, huh?" Quinn echoed.

"Listen, you should head home – or at least, back to Demacia. Return south."

"I'm not ready to go back yet," Quinn said. "I'm not going to give up."

"You would think the snowstorm knocked some sense into you."

Quinn nodded. "It did. Freljord showed me the worst it had, and I'm still alive."

"You're suicidal."

"I'm anything but."

"Fine. You're determined, I'll give you that. I don't know where you're going, or how you know where you're going, but if you want to, you can stick with me for a bit."

Freljord didn't have much, especially during the heavy season, where it snowed nearly every day. Trees on the hillside were mostly buried, except for the tall ones which appeared as odd lumps growing like fungus across the vista, and they tried their best to follow animal tracks – mostly deer – but even the animals didn't do much travelling, and half the time they were slowed to a crawl as they tarnished the powdery white ground.

"Hey, hey Quinn," Ashe said, breaking the silence again. It seemed she hated long stretches of silence. "I need you to be completely honest with me."

"Okay," Quinn said, a little at unease with the sudden request.

"Which side of a Freljord tern has the most feathers?"

"Which side? It needs to be balanced, to fly, so I would think neither side."

"Nope, the outside!" Ashe said, waiting expectantly. "So? Good?"

"Terrible."

Ashe sighed. "Okay. Do you think a variant of it could work?"

"Is that what people up here do all day?" Quinn said. "Cut wood and tell jokes?"

"The kids back home are a much easier audience."

At the peak of the mountain, on the fourth day of Ashe's trial, they looked down into the valley.

Despite the cold, the paths between buildings were melted, and the permafrost was visible. The village took a roughly circular shape. On its outskirts – along its circumference – lots of small, one story houses were clumped together. Each had roofs covered by snow, and piles of chopped wood against their walls – the stockpile for rougher months. A few people were out and about, but by the chimneys of smoke each house had, it seemed like most were taking refuge inside, away from the cold.

Working in towards the center of the village, the houses grew in size, but then, inexplicably, there was an empty field at the center. It couldn't have been for children to play, or any other activity, because it was all fresh, undisturbed snow.

Quinn frowned. "What a weird village."

"Weird? Aside from their uncanny ability to grow vegetables, I don't see anything weird about it," Ashe said, before pointing to the outskirts of the village. "Around the outer edges are the houses, and then the bigger ones towards the middle are storage sheds, the chieftain's house, the school, and other important buildings. And then at the center is their cemetery."

"A cemetery? At the center of the village?"

"It's like this everywhere in Freljord – even my village. We protect our ancestors, who built and bled for us. Demacia doesn't do the same, I take it?"

Quinn shook her head, shuddering at the thought. "Our cemeteries are at the outskirts of the villages, and we usually cremate the dead, anyways."

Ashe looked offended, but she never got to respond. The village guard was already in sight, moving towards them. Telling Quinn to wait there, Ashe moved forward to meet them and begin the negotiations.

"I was wrong, earlier," Ashe said, tromping up the hill. "Turns out not everyone needs weapons. The Winter's Claw haven't been seen in the region for months."

"Then?"

"Looks like I'll be getting engaged," Ashe said.

"You – you can't," Quinn protested. "You're way too young. Can't you just – I don't know – fail this trial thingy?"

Despite Ashe surrendering to her fate so easily, it seemed she had some ideals she couldn't abandon, and becoming chief was a necessary step towards achieving her goals, which, she told Quinn, included unifying Freljord and turning it into a respectable, powerful kingdom.

Taking into account the return trip to her village, which would cost four days, she was almost already out of time. She also had an ego, and refused to go back into the village for accommodations for their night. They would be spending it, again, out in the cold.

Spending the night outside amounted to digging a hole large enough to sleep in. The trees in the region were taller, and there was slightly less snow than during their hike the previous day, so they were surrounded by towering, white monuments of grotesque shape.

Ashe, thankfully, had an enchanted tinderbox, which could create a fire from the frozen branches they managed to break free. After a dinner of freshly cooked meat, listening to a series of terrible jokes-in-progress, and another argument over crossbows – which Quinn only half-heartedly defended – they retired to the hole in the ground, huddling close together to preserve body heat.

Quinn woke, extracting herself from the Ashe, the blanket, and then the hole. It was dawn, and she could feel it in the air. Magic? An artifact? An anomaly, at the very least.

Nearby, a tree rattled, almost imperceptibly, and dumped all its snow to the ground, creating a momentary flurry. Before it even settled, Quinn was pulling a half-sleeping Ashe out of the hole.

"What's going on?" Quinn said. "Earthquake? Avalanche?"

"No – don't worry," Ashe mumbled. "This place is safe. I wouldn't have set up here if there was a chance of us being caught in an avalanche."

"Then-"

In synchrony, every tree nearby shook. The snow on their branches broke free and began cascading to the ground. A fine mist of snow covered the area. Their fire from last night, now charred wood, was covered in a thin layer of snow. Quinn stepped away from their hole and looked around.

For a moment, she forgot about her fear, because the snow and the trees were so beautiful – it really was a winter wonderland, as people described Freljord – but then she saw it. At a distance, through the mist, a large, lumbering shape.

"Ashe?" Quinn said. "What is that?"

It wasn't a tree, because trees couldn't move, but it was as tall as one, and as it got closer, she was able to see more detail. It had limbs. Feet, as wide as Quinn was tall, but with only three toes, each large enough to singlehandedly crush her. It had a massive chest and arms, covered in thick, matted fur, and if there was any question as to its intent, they watched in disbelief as the monster dig into the snow and uprooted a tree, pointing it towards them like a sword.

"Oh god," Ashe said. "That is not Willump. Run!"

Rather than ask who Willump was, Quinn decided to get her feet moving as fast as possible. She was a little disoriented, as the snowy mist was still settling, so she followed after Ashe. For every five steps she took, the thing took one to close the same distance, and its one step was much faster. She couldn't be sure if she was imagining it or not, but it felt like the earth beneath the snow trembled every time the monster took a step. It quickly became apparent they wouldn't be able to outrun the thing.

Yet at the same time, through unspoken agreement, they had decided not to attack. Ashe's bow, strapped to her back, and Quinn's crossbow, which she couldn't even remember retrieving, weren't going to win them any fights. When Quinn realized she was seconds away from being grabbed and tossed around like a rag-doll before being snapped in two, she did the only thing she could to run faster, and tossed her crossbow behind her.

The monster kept chasing them, probably not even noticing the desperate action, and running through the snow only became marginally easier without awkwardly holding her crossbow and having it weigh her down. It could hardly be called running in the first place, though, as the snow slowed them to a pace where it was like a chase from her dreams, where she was being pursued but running at her fastest only made her move at a walking pace. If they didn't think of anything to escape their pursuer, the comedic chase would be rapidly brought to an end.

"It's a Yeti," Ashe shouted, changing course. "Uphill."

"Uphill – is – harder," Quinn said, before deciding to save her breath.

The Yeti, as was inevitable, caught up to her a second later. She felt the first swipe, massive fingers brushing her coat and only barely avoiding knocking her down, but the next swipe, the second attempt, was delayed. Her next step, too, was delayed – and then elongated – and then it never came at all. Her foot kept descending into the snow, until she fell forward, lost her balance, and fell through. Like quicksand, she was sucked in. All around her, the snow joined her in a free fall, and in the flurry, she saw, inexplicably, a cliff wall.

Her hands moved to protect her head, though she didn't know which direction was up, or how far the fall was, or even what was at the bottom of the cliff. The first stone she hit wasn't the bottom, but a slanted piece of rock which scraped at her clothing and redirected her away, tumbling in an even more disorienting fashion. More rock continued to pummel her as the descent continued, and then a final rock – the floor – finished the job.

Her last thought was a desire not to be crushed by a falling Yeti.