He helped his son up the steps with his wife and eldest son following further behind. As he reached the top he smiled at seeing his old friend's bespectacled face

"Monty!" the man said whilst guiding his young son. Monty smiled, "you're here early! No one comes this early; looks like you'll be the only ones on this ride". Monty and the family waited 10 or so minutes to see if anyone else would show up, though no one else came up those steps. Monty cleared his throat and gestured for the others to follow. Monty led them down a short dock where a small boat was tied up. Monty pulled up a ramp and waited for the family to board before untying the boat and getting on himself. He started up the boat and began the journey around the lake. On the horizon a smaller island rose up out of the lake.

The man watched as his son peeped over the side of the boat to view it and stared in awe, hopping up and down before running to the other side and peering out that way. The boat same in close to the little island and slowed so they could take in the scenery, "Wizard Island", Monty announced. As they circled around towards the other side of the lake something came into view a large oak tree a little ways off the edge of the island stood in a small clearing backed by pines. This tree, unlike the lush, green pine was blanketed in white snow. The man stood from his leaning position to stand with his son, who was gazing upon it. "Dad it's still snowing like they said!" The man nodded at his son, "still snowing… hey Monty, do you think we could go check it out?" if it was what he thought it was, there could be a problem with some very important people. "I don't know, I'm not really supposed to take tourists on the island" he said, "c'mon Monty, it's us, we won't tell anyone". Monty was silent, but eventually nodded reluctantly.

Monty pulled the boat up to the shallow area that skirted the clearing, he didn't stop the boats engine; "I'm afraid I can't allow you to stay for long so I might as well keep the boat going", he said, grabbing the ramp and sliding it down to the shore. Monty smiled at his old friend and nodded his head at the ramp "go ahead".

The family climbed down the ramp to the island and made their way to see the lone oak. As they approached they made more sense of what they were seeing but less sense of why they were seeing it. The branches were lined with icicles and the leaves held the heavy snow. The closer the family got, the colder the air became, they stopped a few metres away, shivering; they were dressed for the summer, not winter. The young boy yelled excitedly "Jack Frost is here! I know it!" and ran to the tree. "Ben! You'll get sick if you get too cold!" his mother yelled. His father smiled and turned to her "I'll go get him, you and head back and warm up". The mother nodded thankfully and jogged back to the boat with their elder son.

The father approached the tree, bracing himself against the cold. He joined his son who was looking at the strange markings that were tinged by frost that resided at the base of the tree, spanning along its girth, it had to be at least two metres wide. Like father like son, they both stared in wonder at the marking and snow. "How did the scientists explain that" the father muttered under his breath. He went to look at his son but he had slipped away and was making his way around the tree. "Ben – "

He stopped to listen as his son's footsteps were silenced and his voice caught his attention. "Why are you hiding Jack?" Ben's father froze, at the possibility of what he might hear next, and of what or who was just around the side of the tree. His childhood memories stirred the thought of the marking, the snow, Jack Frost. "I'm not hiding, just taking a break". Ben's father paced around the tree and first saw his son, looking down at someone. Then he turned his attention to the young man sitting against the oak great girth. What he recalled as flawless white skins looked blue around his fingertips and nose, as though the cold had finally gotten to him. His frosty white hair didn't glow and was dull, he looked almost sick, if he could be. "Jack Frost" the whisper didn't come from Ben, but his father and at the sound of his voice; the young man looked up, his icy blue eyes staring into his own with a familiarity that extended from so many years ago.