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The first warmth he ever experienced was the hot pot lid he grabbed to uncover a boiling soup. Something that had smelled so good and been so alluring he’d foregone every natural instinct and entered an unfamiliar place. The second warmth was staring up at him from inside Yana’s golden locket. A second copy of a picture Ice Bear had never expected to see again.
The first copy had been in an unmistakably beautiful chest in the middle of the unforgiving ice.
Ice Bear still wishes he’d never seen it.