Abia’s cells twist and scream with the pressure of the cold. Her fingers feel brittle, as though one swift knock could loose them from their moorings. She wears the agony on her face, but Cang is heedless, his mind blank, hungry for gold. He approaches her offered pile of stones with delusional greed. When he’s got both hands on the loot — such that it is — Abia strikes with her frozen fingers.
Her aim is good, Cang’s distraction is entire. She finds a space of open skin on his neck, makes contact. Instantly the cold flows into him, rushes through Abia’s bloodstream to freeze Cang’s flesh. His face twists in agony as he goes cold.
Washed with sadness, Abia struggles his rigid form out from the cave, lets the heavy door slowly shut behind her.