Jack, not Jackson

Chapter 4: Bad Dream.

Jack started awake with a jolt and nearly fell from the tree he had been napping in. Instead, a pile of snow from a smaller branch above cheerfully dumped its contents onto his head and lap, successfully coating him in white.

Anyone who had been around to hear would have been astonished to witness a mound of snow speak in a muffled, slightly exasperated voice.
"Great."

Percy—who had been going by Jack Frost at least 200x longer then he had gone by his given name—had migrated to a small village in Britain. Though he could not recall exactly how he had gotten there other then that it had involved three drunk soldiers, a bounty hunter, and a bet.

Jack did not like adults. He did not understand them anymore. They wasted their lives complaining about how fate hadn't given them pretty wives and picking up swords to settle disagreements instead of talking.
No, Jack didn't like adults at all. But he did like the village kids.

They would play make-believe games and dance in the snow. They would laugh and skip about for no reason other then that they were alive. They didn't mourn the past. They didn't think of the future. and Jack had spent more than a quarter of his life doing both.

Frost stood from his snow mound and brushed the fine powder off his thin sleeves and leggings, realizing it didn't really make a difference since his clothes were covered in a thin layer of frosty patterns anyway.

He looked around, picked a direction, and started walking. There were faster modes of transportation of course, he could still speak to horses and any number of equines could be found at the farms just outside the forest, he could simply freeze himself a sled, or even ask the wind to carry him, but, he walked.

Because that's the kind of mood Jack was in.
Yesterday had not been good and the nightmare he'd just woken from did not help. He'd seen too many faces to remember them all, but he knew the face of the blonde girl in his dream last night.

He'd screamed it out once, then over and over in his head as she was killed.  Watched in horror as she was enveloped by the flames again.
"All these years and you're still in my head." He chuckled without humor.
"I'll never be rid of you, Wise Girl."

Shivering at the memory of the heat blasting off the flames, Jack unconsciously lowered the temperature around him, not realizing that if he went much lower the trees were going to shatter.

Frost walked like that for three days before he started to regain some awareness of his surroundings and his self. He had no idea where he was, but he didn't care. He was hungry, but he ignored that too.

Two more days Frost walked. Until he found himself at the edge of a shore. He felt something calling to him from the cliffs but didn't feel like answering. So he sat on the shore and waited. What for, he didn't know, but he was patient.