Jack brushed the orange pastel on the sketch pad with a lopsided grin. Soon, a group of carrots wearing little ice skates joined the children on the frozen lake. It was just a vaguely remembered scene from a crazy dream, but it seemed appropriated as he sat there waiting for Bunny to come back.

The Pooka had handed him a box of pastel and a sketchpad before leaving to hide his Easter eggs. Jack strongly suspected that he wanted to keep him busy and out of the way. He felt a little like a child being given crayons and paper by a busy parent.

Not that he really blamed Bunny. With the Easter fiasco being a few years behind them, he may or may not have pulled a few harmless prank that made the Guardian of Hope strongly suggest he remained in the Warrens. He came here as usual to help paint a few eggs and had been "invited" to stay when Bunny left.

He had just laughed and shrugged, happy to sit under a pink flowering tree and fill the notebook with whatever crossed his mind. He considered himself an artist, spreading beautiful frost upon the world, but he had never worked with pastels. The child in him rejoiced at trying something new. So, while Bunnymund was having a perfectly boring, uneventful night hiding eggs all over the world, he amused himself by spreading colors upon the paper the same way he would spread frost on a window.

It had been a long time now since Bunny left and he had already drawn a picture of his lake, frozen under the moonlight, of the Warrens, with their egg golems and rainbow river, of a flight of ducks, of children making snowmen and of cutting paper snowflakes with Jamie and Sophie with pastel colored hair. And if his feathery strokes gave the pictures a whimsical look akin to frost on a window, he didn't care. Realism was boring.

"I'm impressed, Frostbite. I didn't think you'd still be sitting here."

The Pooka pushed through the curtain of flowering branches, looking around with suspicion, as if expecting to find the place frozen solid and filled with mocking representations of Bunny made of snow.

"I can be nice."

"What are you drawing there?"

Bunny sat in front of him and took the sketchbook. He raised a bushy eyebrow at the sight.

"Are those carrots ice skating? Now, why is that familiar?"

"Did you dream about that too?"

Bunny rubbed his forehead and mumbled something about Sandy that Jack didn't quite catch. He snickered. The Pooka started to flip through the sketchbook, looking at the other pictures. The winter spirit expected some snarky comments, but Bunny just stared at them, his eyes a little unfocused and sometime drooping close.

"You look tired, Cottontail."

Bunny snorted dismissively, shaking himself awake. He blinked rapidly to focus, staring harder at the page in front of him.

"It's not my first Easter, Frostbite. I could stay awake a few more days."

"I'm sure you can. But you should sleep. Easter's over."

"Are you going to sing me a lullaby? You got such a lovely singing voice."

Jack stuttered and felt frost cover his cheeks in embarrassment. He tried to find some barb to throw back at him, to turn the conversation away, before realizing that this was exactly what Bunny had done. He turned the conversation away. Jack calmed down and took a slow, calming breath.

"Alright."

"Wh-what?"

"What's the matter, Cottontail? Do you want me to go get Sandy?"

He stood up as if to do just that. Bunny's eyes widened. He hastily grabbed Jack's arm and tugged him back down. The winter spirit felt more than a little smug.

"Fine, fine I'll sleep. Now. Stop fussing."

He dropped the sketchbook on the ground and settled himself in a comfortable spot between the tree's root. Crossing his furry arms over his chest, he looked at him his bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"So? When's that lullaby coming?"

Jack fidgeted. He regretted accepting this already. He could not possibly imagine himself singing while someone gruffly stared at him. On the grass, the sketchbook laid open where Bunny had dropped it. He picked it up and flicked to the picture of his frozen lake. He kept his attention on it, picturing himself standing on the ice and singing to the Moon.

He knew several lullabies. He had spent enough times in his life watching parents put their children to bed. He picked one and, never turning his eyes away from the pastel drawing in front of him, he started to sing. He let the world around him fade, replacing it with the more familiar setting. The nervousness disappeared.

Only when the song ended did he return to reality. He had a brief moment of panic as he remembered where he was. He turned to face Bunny, waiting for whatever sarcastic comment he would no doubt come up with, but the Pooka was fast asleep. Jack was safe from mockeries until he woke up. He wasn't planning to stick around that long.

Time to go see how many eggs the kids had found.