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Jack Frost

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     In the center of the ice hut a fire burned so blue that it no longer gave off heat but cold. Jack looked out the window and tapped his bare foot.
     The cry of children echoed in the distance, happy and loud, but mean.
     It was the third time the children of the near by village ganged together to torture the smallest of their lot.
     Well, he had given them plenty of chances.
     A smile lit his face and Jack dashed out the door and through the snow-covered forest until he reached the frozen lake.
     Rushing across the ice was a small boy, barely covered from the cold. He was followed by a pack of wild kids.
     Jack moved his foot and touched the frozen lake with his toe. A loud crack splintered the ice and moved across the surface. Several of the boys stopped running, but the littlest one kept moving.
     Good for him.
     The crack made a large circle around the children. Jack smiled and stepped onto the lake and as he did the ice beneath the boys shuttered and sank. They disappeared beneath the surface with a sharp cry, and the ice resurfaced, boy-less. With a tap of Jacks foot, the lake sealed itself back together.
     Perfect and clear, as if nothing happened.