The wind of the Frozen Mountains howled its mournful song to Frostrock Cookie's figure wandering them. His red eyes scanned the desolate expanse of the mountains, narrowed against the stinging blizzard. Each step was a testament to his will, his metallic boots crunching through the thigh-deep snow, the air being his opponent.

"Nothing," he murmured, his bandaged fists clenching and unclenched. He pushed aside a frozen bush, revealing only more ice and barren rock. The hunger gnawed, a familiar, deep ache, but it was not for himself that he truly sought sustenance. He was accustomed to hardship.

Maybe he could find something that Frostie could eat. Did she even need to eat?