Joseph reckoned it had been snowing almost constantly for five hours now, give or take. He lay on the bench as the snow wrapped a lazy blanket around him. It fell in gentle whirl, illuminated by the temperamental street lamp. He felt each flake as it landed on his face, in his beard, on his eyelashes.

He was wearing all his clothes – a flannel shirt from the mission, corduroy trousers that had been hanging slightly out of a clothes bank, thick woolen socks that were now more hole than fabric – and over all of them a thick wool coat. It was the last possession he had from before.

"It's going to take some work to undo this Alma," he said, his voice low like crunching gravel and strangely cultured; the voice of a man who had once had much to live for, who now lived the life of a homeless drunk.

At the foot of the bench, someone stirred. He didn't bother to look at her. He already knew what he would see. He was sure that Alma was glaring at him, whiskers twitching in annoyance, long ears pressed back against her skull as she huddled for warmth somewhere near his boots. Her soft white fur would make her blend into the snow, a little furry lump against the ice.

"Well, if you could just get off your ass and actually do something, we might be able to put a stop to this you know," Alma replied.

He'd once thought it strange that a rabbit could talk. He'd thought his mind had been addled by too much booze, by sleepless nights spent wondering if it would be his last, and by malnutrition. But Alma hadn't disappeared. Even on days when he was relatively sober and well-rested, he would be able to feel her small, warm form inside his pocket, head peering out at the city. He'd come to terms with the idea that he could see a magical talking rabbit that no one else could.

Or perhaps it was just that he’d finally gone bonkers?

"I don't feel like it's any business of mine to do anything," he said. Alma jumped up onto his stomach. He could feel her weight, another reason why he thought that maybe - just maybe - she wasn't a complete figment of his imagination.

"The Ice Witch will not stop. This whole city will be buried under the ice. You have to stop her, Joseph," Alma said. She hopped forward, her small nose now in line with his jaw. She rested her forepaws on his unshaven face.

"I don't see why it's always gotta be me all the time. Surely if some divine power wanted someone to put a stop to all this nonsense, they'd find someone a bit more capable," Joseph replied. Alma's sharp little claws dug into his clothes and he sat up to dislodge her. She landed in his lap with a soft plop and looked up at him with eyes that were filled with recrimination. Or as much as a rabbit’s eyes could hold recrimination at any rate.

"You think I want you to be the one who's going to save the world? I requested a fourteen year old orphan with a penchant for adventure. I got you. Looks like we're both unhappy," Alma snapped back. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's your job."

Joseph sighed and reached for the brown paper bag beneath the bench. The world had been a confusing place before all this. He'd never understood how someone could go from a normal life - with a wife and a child and a stable job - to living on a bench beneath a flickering street light and letting the snow pile up and up and up around him. Now it seemed almost weekly that his talking rabbit found another fantasy creature with which he had to do battle.

It was exhausting.

"Looks like we're both out of luck," Joseph replied, finally snagging the bottle and bringing it up to his mouth. The liquor wasn't warm, but it burned on the back of his throat all the same. He poured a little into the cap and held it out for Alma. At first she turned her face away, but when he continued to keep it outstretched, she sighed and lapped at the offered whiskey.

"Joseph, for whatever reason, it's you. We can go there now, you know, to the Ice Witch's Palace over on Second, and just... stop this," Alma said once she'd finished her measure. Her eyes looked a bit glazed. Joseph put the cap back on the bottle.

He had no desire to go to the place where the Ice Witch lived. He had no idea how you were supposed to stop an Ice Witch in the first place. If she wanted to make it snow until it piled fifty feet high, really, she probably had her reasons. But he looked at Alma's miserable little face and knew he was about to be defeated.

"Say I go. How do I even stop her? It's not like I can just go in there, stinking of a week on the streets without a shelter, and just rant at her until she backs down," he pointed out. Alma jumped off his lap, landing in a particularly deep flurry of snow. Only her ears stuck out until she bounded back onto the path. Snow glinted like diamonds in her fur.

"We can get some Firewater from the Flame Fairy," Alma said, shaking. Her ears were upright and alert now, clearly happy to have some action from him.

"There's only one kind of firewater I know," he replied. Alma just stared at him, nose twitching. She had no time for his games this time it seemed.

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up," he said. He struggled to his feet. His joints popped as he straightened, his muscles had seized in the cold. It probably was just as well that he was going to move. He'd have probably died in his sleep if he'd stayed there.

"So where's this Flame Fairy?" he asked. Alma hopped in a circle before bounding down the path.

"Follow me! She lives above a candle shop in Downtown," Alma called over her shoulder.

Joseph squared his shoulders, ignoring his ragged, threadbare coat, his gloves that had long since worn holes in, the way the soles of his shoes had worn through so that water seeped in through the edges.

He didn't know why Alma had come to him. He didn't know why he’d been chosen to be the intermediary between the worlds. But for whatever reason, it fell to him. They had sent him Alma, they had given him something to live for again.

“Alma! Wait!” he called. He glanced at the bottle of whiskey, silently bid it farewell and followed the rabbit into the night.

A man and a rabbit's footprints were embedded in the path and the snow continued to fall until they were covered completely, as though Joseph and Alma had never existed.