“I’ve seen thick ice before, but in all my years, what even is this?” he wondered to himself as he approached the huge chunk of ice in front of him. “What are you?” Henry murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft whistle of the wind through the trees.
He wasn’t one to spook easily, but this was unlike anything he’d ever encountered in his sixty years of life. The logical part of his mind urged him to leave the thing where it was and get back to chopping firewood. Yet curiosity, that stubborn human impulse, held him rooted in place.