As a child, there were many things that Kristoff didn't understand.
Why did snow fall? What made the lights in the sky at night? How did winter turn into spring?
He wasn't the most curious child by far, but it was there all the same. It showed in things that vastly grabbed his attention; animals, nature, things of that nature. Kristoff was often left alone while his mother slept or worked, so he would sneak off a ways from their village, even though he was met with an angry smack to the head when he got back. He liked to explore, liked to climb the trees and rocks, to watch the deer and the other little animals.
Kristoff brought several back home with him, just little things that wouldn't get him into too much trouble - like that one time he brought home a bear cub. But, he could never keep the creatures, little friends to him, for very long. His mother would find them eventually, or the older man that they lived with, and Kristoff would be forced to say goodbye to his furry friends.
His curiosity was subdued most days, it seemed to get him into more trouble than it was worth.
What made the other children in the village throw rocks at him? How come the adults gave him dirty looks, and called him names? Why did his Mama hit him some nights?
Kristoff didn't think he was so different. He wanted to play like the other children, wanted to have fun and make friends like any of them. Sure, he only had a Mama, but what was so great about having a Papa anyway? Kristoff's never wanted him, so why should he want a Papa?
Besides, his Mama was good, even if she yelled and hit him sometimes. She kept him warm when she was there to stoke the fire, or mend clothes. She didn't cook well, but it kept him from being hungry most nights. She told him to fight back when the other village kids were being mean, told him to throw rocks back at them.
But she didn't hug him, didn't kiss him like a mother does to a child - at least, not like what he'd seen other mothers do with their children. They always seemed so...warm and comforting, like they always had a kind or caring word for their son or daughter. His mother was rarely so affectionate or close, the closest she came to embracing him was when he was younger, and needed to be carried; even then, she didn't carry him for long, merely strapping him to one of the reindeer so that he wouldn't fall off.
She was cold, and distant, and would often tell him why this was. As a child, most of it didn't make complete sense to him, but one thing was crystal clear to him even at a young age. His mother didn't love him like other kids' mothers did them, he was a responsibility and nothing more. It didn't bother him as much as he thought hearing her say it would, but he'd grown up with the very feeling of her hatred for him.
How could he grieve over something he never had to begin with?
But then, one night seemed to change that, however brief it lasted.
Kristoff had woken up to the sounds of screaming, and the smell of smoke and fire. Confused and scared, he had scampered over to the small window that overlooked the front of the house, and peered out into the night. The dark sky was tinged a putrid orange and gray, the shadowy figures of men in metals and furs ripping their way through the small mountain village.
His mother had pulled him away from the window, hushing him and telling him to stay quiet. Kristoff did as he was told, fear keeping him as silent as a mouse. She had quickly gathered a satchel and several other supplies, thrusting the bag over his shoulder and tying it tight so that he wouldn't lose it. Then, she picked him up, hiding him as best she could as she dashed out of their little home and out to where their one surviving reindeer rested in a lean-in against the cabin.
It was chaotic, darkness and smoke and heat clamoring from all around; pained screams and horrible shrieks, both man and animal, filling the air.
But his mother got him on the reindeer - which was pregnant, and almost painfully lethargic at this point - hastily uttered that she would find him, and then smacked the reindeer cow until she got up and ran. Kristoff dug his pudgy little fingers into coarse fur, holding on as he looked back. He didn't stop looking back, even when the burning village faded and all he could hear was the labored breathing of the animal beneath him.
How could he grieve over something he thought was never there before?