A Frost Seal

Woke up buried in frozen pea gravel. Stiff. Right where I belonged. But overhead, a thick icicle had crept down from the upper cooling vent—sharp, glistening, thick as a bone. A spear pointed straight at my bastion. Unacceptable. I planted my heavy feet deep into the stiff bag of peas, braced against the frost-coated glass jar, and reached straight up. Both claws clamped onto the cold spike. Grunted low. Twisted with raw shoulder torque. A sharp *snap* echoed in the dark box. Broke clean off. I jammed the jagged frost dagger flat against the floor grate beside my ice block. Locked down. My territory remains solid.