To Bear the Bones

It was after hours on a ski hill. Mr. Brown was the groundskeeper. He'd named the snow mage in front of him Mr. White. At first, he'd wielded the nearest thing he could use as a weapon: a ski pole. The snow mage's best promise of safety had been its calm.

Mr. Brown would stick a ski pole in the snow as a signal when he was available after work. Mr. White would make sure the coast was clear, and they would talk. Mr. Brown stood considering him.

"Are all of your bones really ice?" he asked.

Without warning, all the snow fell off of Mr. White. Rather than step out of the pile this made, he commanded it away from him in a circle so clean, it revealed earth. He stood as a perfect human skeleton, entirely ice.

Mr. Brown watched the leafless trees standing behind the snow mage. Those were bones he could look at comfortably.

Now a snow golem, Mr. White's arms reached the ground. A snowman without stick or carrot. "I have done much for this little business of yours. I could teach you this power." It was meant as a bargain. A gift.

Mr. Brown was suspicious. "Spring wiped the snow's memory of the area you came from. Maybe even of who you are. I feel for you, and I'm sorry, but..."

"Please?"

"Start over."

"That is not the purpose of power!"

"Isn't it?"