English is not my first language, so feel free to point out my mistakes. Other feedback is also very much appreciated.

EDIT: I drew some cover art while I was sick, as you can see. It's not very good, but it's mine.

Shelter

The man couldn't see anything. He could barely keep his eyes open with the icy snow stinging them. It whipped all around him, the wind tearing through his tolerance for cold and leaving him shivering. The blizzard had hit almost out of nowhere, and he had nowhere to go. He hadn't been properly prepared. He had just been out gathering firewood to warm up his little home, and now he couldn't even find his way back to any kind of shelter. Everything was white and cold and the directions had been shuffled by the wind. His firewood was strewn somewhere around him, and the only piece he had found again had been frosted over and burned his fingers with cold. Soon it would be over, though. His fingers would lose feeling and he wouldn't have to worry about it until he got back home to warm himself up.

If he got back home.

He had to at least try. Although, he thought bitterly, it wasn't as if he had a family waiting for him. His beloved Maria had gone to Heaven last year because of that damn pneumonia. Now it was just him. Maybe soon not even that. The flying snow was like a wall he couldn't breach no matter how much he tried. He could feel the resistance of fallen snow all the way up to his waist. He was swimming rather than walking, fighting his way forward. It was like a nightmare of being chased and being unable to run. Except this wasn't a dream. This was real. And what he was trying to run from was all around him.

He opened his mouth to shout for help. His voice was stolen by the greedy wind that attacked him like a howling beast. His legs were trembling and he couldn't feel his toes, even though they were protected by thick deer-hide boots. His face was stinging and trying to keep his eyes open was impossible. Chilling cold crept to his fingers, numbing them and racing all the way into his core. He could almost hear his heart beating slower. But he wasn't going to go yet! His Maria would have to wait in Heaven a bit more...

He shouted for help again, but he couldn't even hear himself any more. So he cursed. He cursed the blizzard, cursed winter and snow and winds. He cursed the... the thing that had caused all of it. Because it couldn't be just nature. In his frozen mind he imagined an evil spirit behind it all. Had he been a bit more coherent he would have scolded himself for thinking like a pagan of the old times. But he was freezing to death, so he didn't even care. He cursed the spirit. He cursed and shouted and the wind roared back at him. He struggled forward for two more steps, but then his legs gave out.

He was trembling and the merciless flurry of snow pelted him from all sides. He couldn't go on... even if he wanted to...

Someone was shouting.

He forced his eyes to crack open. The snow stung his eyes, but he could still see a small form in the storm. It shouted again, but he couldn't make out the words. He opened his mouth once more and shouted with a cracked voice:

"H-h-h-elp!"

The wind tore his words away from him again, but the figure in the storm was close enough to hear it and hurried towards him.

"Oh... t-t-t-thank G-g-"

He couldn't even finish his sentence. He was too cold. The figure walked unsteadily through the storm and broke through the mists and snowflakes and into view.

It was a boy. Small, skinny and looking like the wind could blow him away at any moment. A tattered brown cloak was flapping violently around the child's small frame, and the child was holding an old wooden shepherd's crook in his hand.

"C-c-c-child..."

The boy stiffened, shock making its way to his face. The child crouched down, staring with wide blue eyes.

"You... you see me?"

The child's voice was shaking from uncertainly and surprise. Maybe the cold had messed with the child's head too. The boy certainly looked like he had been out there for a while. His hair was so covered in snow and frost that it was completely white. But the man knew he himself wasn't looking any better. The child shook his head and spoke again, and his voice didn't tremble from the cold at all:

"You know what... it doesn't matter. You need help! I'm sorry about this... I can't... I've tried to stop it but I'm just too new to this. I don't know what I'm doing wrong..."

The boy was making absolutely no sense. But for a frozen mind, anything that might mean salvation was better than nothing. The boy looked around frantically and swung his staff around in panic.

"C-c-c-c-child... We n-n-n-need to find s-shelter."

His words seemed to wake the child to the situation. The boy quickly tore his brown cloak from his shoulders and threw it clumsily over the man. It was frosted and cold and too small but the gesture was appreciated. Cold, cold fingers wrapped around the man's wrist and he was pulled back to his frozen feet.

"Come on," the child said, "The village is not far. I'll help you!"

The freezing hands tugged him forward and he stumbled in the too deep snow. His thoughts were muddled, but he was aware enough to feel worried for the child. The boy looked pale like a corpse and he had no protection from the fierce blizzard. The boy's steps were unsteady and he was clearly exhausted. The man forced himself to hurry. Now it wasn't just about him. There was a child with him in the storm. They needed to get out.

"Come on!" the child repeated, urgently, "You need to keep moving! I'm trying to stop this. I swear I am!"

The boy really was a bit touched in the head. But the boy was also his salvation. Despite looking like he could barely stand, the child dragged the man through the snow and the howling winds and didn't stop until there was another dark shape among the storm. It was an old animal shelter, made of stone and looking forlorn from disuse. It had been deserted for years after the farmer who had owned it had died.

"Look!" the boy pointed with his staff, "Shelter. Right there!"

The child's speech was clipped and strained. Like he was trying to conserve as much energy as he could. The man wasn't surprised. The poor boy must be almost as cold as he was, even though the child did put up a brave act not to show it. They made their way into the shed and collapsed. It wasn't much of a shelter; it didn't even keep most of the wind outside. Snow had gathered into a white layer on the floor. But the howling wind was fainter now, and the man's face wasn't assaulted by sharp flakes of snow. He curled up against the chilly stone wall and pulled the borrowed cloak tighter around his shoulders. He couldn't feel his feet or his hands and his nose was going numb as well. But at least he was safer... He had to thank his saviour...

The child! He looked up and saw the child in the opposite corner, clutching the wooden staff tightly and breathing heavy, ragged breaths that didn't sound healthy at all. Without the cloak the boy's frail form was clad only in a loose white shirt and brown leather leggings and he looked even tinier. And the child's feet were bare. The mere thought of that chilled him more than the wind.

"C-c-c-c-c-child..." he stuttered through his clattering teeth, "T-t-thank you... a-are you w-w-well?"

The boy looked up.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I'm just tired. But it doesn't matter. We need to get you warm."

The child stood, peering out of the open doorway of the shelter.

"I'll go get some firewood for you," the boy said, "Wait here."

Fire. It would keep them warm. He knew they needed it. But the child looked so weak. He couldn't allow a child risk his life for him. He couldn't let the ruthless spirit of the cold take an innocent life.

"N-n-no," he rasped, "It's w-warm en...enough here."

"No," the child was leaning heavily on his staff, but his eyes were determined, "You need to get warmer. I'll be fine."

With that, the child braced himself into the doorway and took a few deep breaths before stepping out. The child disappeared into the whiteness and the howling wind instantly covered the prints the child's feet had made into the snow.

Instantly, he knew it was a mistake. He shouldn't have let the child go. The boy would get lost. The spirit would take him. The cold would take the child and freeze him to death. The boy didn't even have his cloak, he realized. Guilt burned its way into his heart, thawing it a bit. He wanted to go after the boy, but he knew it would just make things worse. He couldn't even stand up. He could just lace his fingers together and pray. Pray for a safe return for his young saviour. And pray for salvation for them both.

"Hey!"

He had fallen into some sort of stupor. He was still freezing and he couldn't move. His fingers were still laced and he was still trembling in a corner. But the child was back, and a bunch of frosty pieces of firewood clattered onto the floor. The child set his staff to lean against a corner and quickly arranged the sticks into a pile and built a ring of snow around it. And he started babbling while he worked, still without a sign of being cold:

"I'm sorry it took so long. I'm sorry about the whole thing. I'm sorry about the blizzard. Although I'm not even sure if it's all me..."

"N-no... you... you s-saved m-m-me."

"Can you make fire?" the boy asked suddenly, "I don't... I don't have anything to make fire with. I'm not sure I can even do it."

The child looked so hopeful and so scared at the same time. It almost broke the man's heart to shake his head.

"N-no, c-c-c-child. I'm afraid I c-c-cannot d-do any... anything n-now."

The child deflated in front of him. The boy's skinny legs gave out and the boy fell onto his knees, pale face going even paler.

"Oh," the boy could only say, "I... I'm so stupid."

The man reached out to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder. It was cold. So cold.

"It-it is f-f-fine. We're fine h-h-here."

He wanted to say something more. But he didn't know what. He had never had a child of his own. He had never really talked to children. Well, the boy wasn't that young. Maybe sixteen. But a child nonetheless.

"You shouldn't get too close," the boy said wearily, his eyelids drooping, "I'll make you cold."

Then the boy slumped on the floor, eyes closing.

"D-d-don't! You mustn't f-f-fall asleep! Y-you wi-will freeze!"

The boy cracked his eyes open, looking confused and sleepy.

"Freeze?" he asked, "No. I won't. I'm just tired."

That was not good. He needed to keep the boy awake until the blizzard was over. He needed to keep them both warm. The boy had saved him from the storm. Now he could save the boy from the cold. He forced his frozen body to move and crawled over to the curled up child. He took the boy's cloak from his shoulders and gave it back. He wrapped it around the boy and pulled the boy into a hug. He shook the boy's shoulders. The child was freezing. It was a wonder the child was still functioning. He pulled the child close and backed against the wall. They would have to huddle together and share body heat until it was over. Until they could get more help.

He shook the child again. The boy's eyes snapped open.

"What?" the boy breathed and began to struggle, "No! Let go!"

"A-all is well, c-c-child. W-we need to k-keep awake a-and warm."

He had hoped it would calm the boy down. But it did just the opposite. The child's struggles became wilder.

"No! I'm fine! I don't need help! I'll just make you colder!"

He knew. He could feel the coldness seeping into him. It was as if it was radiating from the child. But if being a bit colder meant that the frost spirit wouldn't take the child's life, it was worth it. The child tried to break free, but weariness soon made him calm down. The boy started to tremble. No wonder. What little comfort the shelter had given was gone now. It was steadily getting even colder.

"Let me go," the child whispered, "You will freeze."

"Nonsense," he replied with a smile, "I'm feeling warmer now."

And he really was. Comforting warmth spread slowly into his body. It didn't make any sense. Just a moment ago he had been freezing. But now everything was bearable. More than bearable, in fact. He closed his eyes. He wanted to assure the boy that everything would be fine. But speaking felt so tiring. He had to conserve his energy for staying awake. He would freeze to death if he fell asleep. But he was so warm now... maybe the blizzard was over after all. Maybe he could take a nap.

Just for a short while...

...

When the blizzard finally broke, the man wasn't moving any more. His breathing had stopped and he was pale as snow.

Jack Frost had broken free from the man's embrace as soon as the man's strength had failed. Now he sat in a corner with his staff, his face buried into his hands. He was trembling, but it wasn't because of the cold.