Lucinda had expected the hovel to be long gone. But there it stood - the wood petrified and grey from the endless cold, adorned by ancient thorns of frost.
An old, nigh-forgotten emotion pricked at her heart, piercing almost as deep as the cold of the …
_Hmmm. Nan doesn't like you, scrawny. Gives you a choice. I feed you to Nan, or you get on your knees and convince me otherwise._
Of all the giant kinds on the world of Zelzosh, the Frost Giants have fared _worst_ against the Killing Cold. Not because …