Cold white crystals prickle over her gown, her sleeves, but still Anna clutches at her sister’s hands. She pulls her closer and they both slip, a little—the floor’s all ice.
“I shouldn’t,” says Elsa. She bats Anna’s hands away. That’s all, though. She hasn’t run since the once and she’s not running now. She won’t, not again. Not ever. She promised.
“We shouldn’t,” Anna agrees. She takes a step closer. They’re knocking knees now. Their shadows spill over the ice and their breath is a faint frosty cloud between them, and Anna goes up on her tiptoes, and Elsa leans down to her, and feels for the first time what it means to shiver.