The Frost Flowers
Wren climbed with both hands, step after step, into the cool blue dark. The stairs of the cloud kingdom were vapour, and they gave a little under each foot, like loaves left to rise. Plum rode on Wren's shoulder, her sleepy lids half down, her tufted brows up. "Nearly there," Wren said. Above them the handrail curved away, a long twist of mist that the wind kept combing. Wren liked the top step best. From up there the moon sat close enough to look furry. They climbed past a ribbon of drifting fog and a bird going home, and the quiet grew thicker, like wool packed round them.
At the top step, Wren stopped. Something had grown along the handrail while they were away. Tiny flowers of frost, each one no wider than a fingernail, stood in a long silver row. Plum leaned so far forward she nearly tipped off. Wren put one finger near the closest flower, then nearer, then touched it. It was furred, like the underside of a leaf, and cold in a way that felt soft. "Plum," Wren whispered. "Feel this one." Plum pressed her cheek against it and blinked slowly. Then she shuffled down the rail and pressed her cheek against the next one too.
The flower Wren had touched was smaller now. While they watched, it slid down into a single bead of water and hung there, shining. Wren caught it on their thumb. It was warm by the time it got there. Further up the rail, another flower let go. Then another, far off, with a sound like a page turning. Wren understood then that the frost flowers were only for tonight, and only until the moon went down. "Let's just sit here a bit longer," Wren said. Plum shuffled closer along the rail and tucked her feet in under her feathers.
Plum had a wish of her own. She dropped off the rail, rolled over, and lay on her back on the wide step with her brows pointing at the sky. Wren lay down beside her. From underneath, the row of frost flowers looked like a hedge of small lamps with the moon behind them. The step was cool against Wren's back, and dimpled, like the skin of an orange. Plum's feathers were warm along Wren's arm, warmer than anything else in the cloud kingdom. They stayed like that a long while, counting flowers until the counting got muddled and they started again.
A slow wind came over the top step and ruffled everything it met. It stood Plum's feathers up in little ridges and smoothed them down again. It made the handrail shiver, and every frost flower shivered with it, all together, like grass. Wren held out both palms. The wind filled them and moved on. "Did you feel that one?" Wren asked. Plum clicked her beak, which meant yes. They found a flower shaped like a star, and one shaped like a tiny broom, and one so fine it was mostly air, and they looked at each of them properly.
Then the moon slid low, and the rail began to let go all along its length. The flowers loosened and lifted and went off over the edge in a drift, turning to wet light as they went. Some brushed Wren's face on the way, cool and quick, gone before they could be held. Wren waved, because waving seemed right. Plum lifted one wing and held it up until the last of them had gone. The handrail stood bare and dark. "Let's just sit here a bit longer," Wren said, and they did, side by side on the empty step.
Plum noticed it first, the way she noticed everything. Along the bare rail, small beads of mist had already begun to gather, no bigger than seeds, dull and silver and waiting. Wren ran a finger through them and felt them catch like fine sand. Tomorrow night they would be flowers again, furred and cold and new. "We'll come back up," Wren said. "Same step." Plum pushed her head in under Wren's chin. Wren leaned against the soft stair, suddenly heavy, the way you get when the climbing is finished and only the going down is left.
The slow wind came again, wider this time, and it got underneath them. It lifted Wren the way water lifts a leaf, and the stairs began to pass below, step after soft step. Plum tucked herself into the crook of Wren's arm and shut her heavy lids. Wren felt the vapour slide along their back like brushed wool. "Let's just sit here a bit longer," Wren said, though they were already going down, already carried. Plum made a small sound into Wren's sleeve. Below them the lower clouds opened, warm and dim, and took the two of them gently in.
