The border between Summer and Winter wasn't a gradual change, like the shift of white to gray, and then to black. It was drastic, as if the gods drew a line that split the land in two. On one side the earth grew lush and green, flowers of every kind carpeted meadows and soft, rolling hills with a rainbow of color. In this bright land of color, a people of the sun lived and prospered in the warmth and light of summer. They were a joyous people, full of as much song and dance as the birds and animals that lived along side them. They flourished with the land and helped it grow richly with the thrill of life.

But on the other side of the border, leafy foliage dare not grow. Ice froze on all the ponds and streams, and snow fell constantly, blanketing the ground with its endless silence. Here, people also lived, but they lived much differently from the people of Summer. They rejoiced the cold and silence of Winter. Simply, quiet beauty influenced everything the people of snow and ice cherished. They did not feel the cold and its bite, nor did they shy away when the North Wind brought fall upon fall of snow.

Our story begins on the border between these two very different lands, with a son of Winter named Arthur. He thrived in the stillness and calm of Winter, but he was young and curious of the other side of the border. Arthur was an intelligent man and more than wary of the warmth that drove away the cold and melted snow with its touch, but the bright greens of the forest beyond his winterworld drew him with such an intensity he couldn't deny.

It was a normal day for Arthur. He finished his duties as a scribe early to take a walk along the border, staring at the vibrant greens of the forest that interested him so. The cheery twittering of birds drifted to his ears from across the invisible, solid line and he sighed. As far as he knew, no birds ever sang on his land, despite the solemn hoot of an owl over the eerie landscape. Suddenly, the birdsong paused, replaced by a different sound—a voice. Deep and soothing, like the gentle sound of wind blowing on the cold nights when Winter was in its deepest silence, hardly distinguishable, but an earnest sound in the lonely nights. Arthur moved behind a tree, peeking around it as the voice drew closer. Its gentle notes echoed by the chirp of birds.

A person stepped out from the deep shadows of the trees, glancing around almost cautiously. Arthur was able to tell it was a man, but a strange hat hid the man's face from view. He had never seen a child of Summer before, none had ever dare venture to the border. This man wore the green and brown of the woods behind him, his clothing light and airy compared to Arthur's dark, woolen clothes, and much brightly colored too.

The man crept out of the reach of the shady trees, clutching what seemed to be a basket in his hands tightly as he approached the border. The man glanced around again, looking up enough just for him to see smooth, dark hair shifting beneath his large hat, but his face remained shadowed by the wide brim. Arthur strained his eyes trying to distinguished the colorful flora in the basket, but the man set it to the side. The brunet drew closer to the line where grass ended and snow began.

His eyes widened as he realized what this child of sun meant to do, but he still continued to watch in silence. The brunet knelt down and tentatively reached across the border, jerking his hand back almost immediately. The man took his hat off, and from his place, Arthur could see the man's face glowing with awe and wonderment. Something about this man of Summer fascinated him. Perhaps it was the way he radiated curiosity, or the fact that he had done what Arthur had always yearned to do: cross the border.

There was a law in his land that forbid him from crossing over. Stories and legends warned him of the warmth of Summer. The stories said death and misery came to those who cross, but that didn't quell his urge to see the other side. How could a land so beautiful cause him harm?

A clear, pleasant laugh broke through his thoughts. The man had touched the snow and was having a good time of playing with the powdery substance. He didn't know what came over him, but Arthur stepped out from behind the tree and closer to the border, his eyes fixed on the brunet laughing like a child as he threw snow into the air.

At the sound of snow crunching under his boots, the man looked up. Their eyes locked and two amber pools stared fearfully into his. In the blink of an eye, the man was up and bounding off into the safety of the trees, lithe as a deer. He left behind his hat and basket, along with the odd sense of discontent Arthur felt from the wide-eyed look of fear. Arthur hesitantly reached almost over the border and picked up the hat that just barely passed into his side, staring at the shadows of the forest.

It was a strange hat, indeed, with its golden coloring and interwoven strands. Very strange, like the man who left it. It was a pity he couldn't reach the basket; he didn't have the courage to cross the border completely and get it. Perhaps he could return tomorrow and give back the hat, after he sketched a drawing of it for his book.

...

Arthur returned the next day, the hat in hand and his pencils and papers in a bag at his side. He wasn't surprised to find no one around, but he wished the summer man would return. Arthur inched his way closer to the border and crouched down in the snow. Bright, green grass grew up where snow ended and waved gently in the breeze.

Hesitantly, he reached over the border. The air was warm! Arthur didn't know what to think; he'd never felt such warmth before. It enveloped his hand in complete warmth, as if he was holding his hand over the air raising up from a fire, but he saw no flames. The air seemed to welcome him, and he touched a piece of grass. This was truly amazing. He quickly took his hand back and began taking down notes in his book.

In the middle of sketching a blade of grass, he looked up. A person was peeking around a tree, and as soon as he saw Arthur looking, he hid behind the tree again.

"Hello," he called, almost thinking he had imagined the man there. "Are you the man from yesterday?"

Silence.

"I have your hat. Would you like it back?" The head peeked out again, and he knew it was the same man.

"It's right here, see?" Arthur waved it in the air, and then placed it as far over the border as he could reach. He looked up again and those watchful eyes were on him. "I hope you're not mad that I borrowed it. I just wanted to draw a picture of it."

The man didn't move from behind the tree. After many moments, he finally held out a hand and motioned for Arthur to turn around.

"Oh, alright." Arthur turned and sat down with his back to the border. He must have thought it was some kind of trap. He listened closely. The softest whisper of movement alerted him and when he turned around, the hat was gone and something colorful was placed on his side of the border.

"What's this?" No one answered. He picked up what seemed to be a plant with strange, colorful petals. "I'm sorry for my ignorance, but might I inquire if this is a flower? I've only read about them, but never have I seen one."

Not a sound answered him, and he thought the child of Summer had already run off. "It's called a primrose," a smooth, lilting voice said, almost to quietly for him to hear. "It's a type of flower."

"Ah, yes. I have read they were a very diverse plant." He touched the soft petals gently and took out his book to draw the flower quickly. "My name is Arthur, by the way."

He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one. Once he finished the sketch, frost crawled up the green stem from his fingers, encasing the flower in a protective, icy coating. "These lovely plants don't grow in Winter," Arthur said, mostly to himself.

"Then what does grow there?" The man was peeking out from the tree again.

"Nothing grows. Everything is kept frozen." He looked at the man with one eye closed and the other half open, as if making eye contact would send the child of Summer running.

"Why?"

"Because that's how most people like it. We are born in the cold, raised in it, and live in it. It's the same with you and your people, is it not? You keep the forest alive and growing." Arthur stowed the flower away in his bag. "But that doesn't stop some from being curious about what lies on the other side of the border."

"Is it true you keep even the water white?" The man poked his head out more, watching him warily.

"Our region is quite mountainous and the cold comes naturally to the land, we just keep the streams and rivers from melting and the trees from leafing out." He wrote notes of their conversation in his notebook. When he looked up from his writings, the man's face was inches from his. Arthur froze, captivated by two eyes that hinted at the forest that lay beyond his sight. The flecks of greens mixed with amber browns, and Arthur thought he'd never be free from the man's intense gaze.

"What are you doing?" Full lips moved, slow and carefully, around the words.

"W...Writing..." Gold flecks in the man's eyes looked like rays of sunlight penetrating the leafy canopy of the forest.

"About what?" The child of Summer didn't seemed bothered by the lack of space between them, but made sure to keep the border between them, watching him with curious interest.

"This encounter..." Arthur felt that he couldn't catch his breath, suffocating under the weight of the man's eyes.

"Why?" The brunet sat back, a scowl forming on his handsome, sun-darkened face.

"I've never met a child of Summer before and it's my job to document anything I don't know. I'm a scribe, you see; I like to write things down," he explained somewhat breathlessly.

"So...You know a lot of things?" The man put his hat on, hiding his face from view.

Arthur shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath. "I'd like to think so." He glanced over the man's clothes: Today he wore airy, red shirt and loose, tan leggings.

"Can you tell me what this is?" The man scooped up a handful of snow from his side of the border.

"I can," Arthur said.

"Well...Will you?"

"Yes." He smiled. "For a price."

The man eyed him warily from under his hat, sitting back on his heels, as if to jump up and run at any moment. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Don't become rude. I only want to know your name." He scribbled in his book, drawing a quick sketch of the intriguing man in front of him.

"Oh..."

"That's not too much to ask, is it? I would very much like to know you as more than just a man from Summer."

"My name is Lovino."

"It's nice to meet you." Arthur extended his hand politely.

Lovino stared at his hand in confusion, and then looked at him questioningly. "Why are you sticking your hand out like that?"

"It's a greeting when you first meet someone. You're supposed to shake it. Do they not do that in Summer?"

"No, we greet people very differently." Lovino took his hand and shook it awkwardly.

"How do you greet someone, then?" Lovino's hand was warm in his, much more so than his hand. The brunet tugged him forward by his hand and pressed his lips against both his cheeks. Arthur jerked back, falling into the snow. His face burned and he blinked in shock.

"That's how you greet someone?"

"Yes...?" Lovino frowned. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Usually kisses are reserved for people that are close to each other." Arthur looked away, trying to calm his heated face. "Not complete strangers."

"Oh..." The brunet flushed lightly. "Well, that's how we do it over here," Lovino declared firmly.

"I see that," he mumbled and sat up, retrieving his notebook from the snow.

"Are you going to tell me what this white shit is?" Lovino pawed at the snow again, breathing on his fingers when they got too cold.

"It's called snow. It's formed when moisture in clouds condenses and falls to the earth," Arthur explained, feeling the weight of Lovino's curious eyes on him again.

"So, it's like frozen rain."

"Not exactly. It's much lighter than that." Lovino listened with such intense interest, he found himself talking more animatedly about the working of Winter weather. They sat in front of each other, each on his own side of the border, and Arthur happily shared his knowledge with Lovino.

"What's that thing you did to the primrose? Did you make it die?" Lovino gestured to the frosted flower in his bag.

"I covered it in frost. It's not dead, just...sealed, you could say." Arthur fingered his sleeve thoughtfully. "It would wilt if I let it stay in the cold air, but the frost keeps the flower as it is for later examination."

"Can you do that again?"

"Of course." He set his hand in the grass on the other side and frost spread from his hand to the plants around it. "Some of my people are more adept at making snow or ice, but I stay with simple frost."

Lovino touched the icy blades of grass curiously, watching the frost melt into droplets of dew. "I thought you were a scribe."

"I am, but all children of Winter have some kind of ice magick. What about you, aren't Summer people known for making things grow?"

"Yes. That is why the trees are always green and the flowers always bloom."

He jotted down notes. "Will you show me how you do it?"

The brunet shrugged, and closed his eyes. Lovino began to sing softly, his voice flowing smoothly and gently into the air, like the voice that made the birds pause and follow the resounding notes. Arthur felt he should know the words Lovino sang so sweetly, but as soon as the words passed Lovino's lips, they were gone on the wind. Small flowers bloomed around Lovino, and he watched in awe as they grew and multiplied. Lovino closed his mouth and opened his eyes to see his work.

"That was amazing," he breathed. "How did you do that?"

"The same way you made the frost, but it's not that great. You should hear my brother, he can bloom whole meadows with just a single song." Lovino touched a small flower almost tenderly. "Each song is different for every plant and by changing the tones, you can change the size or color of the plant, but we try not to change things from their natural coloring."

"Amazing, I'm quite impressed. What are these flowers called?" Arthur nudged a flower with his pencil.

"These are daisies."

"Mind if I take one?" Lovino nodded his consent and he plucked a flower from the ground, quickly frosting it over. He wrote feverishly in his notebook, detailing a sketch of a daisy next to the flower's description.

A call echoed through the forest and Lovino sprung to his feet, nimble as a mountain cat. "I have to go," the man of Summer said quickly and gathered his hat.

"Wait, when will I see you again?" There was still more he wanted to know about the strange land over the border.

"I'll be here tomorrow." Without another word, Lovino sprinted through the forest, leaving only the slightest tremble of leaves to mark his going.

Arthur slowly collected his things, excited for his plans to meet with the child of sun. He wanted to know more about the mysterious man that drew his eye like a thief to a sparkling jewel. Also, he wanted to know as much as he could about the forbidden world over the border.