The North Wind, still chuckling, reached out a giant, frosty finger and gently tapped Ingrid on her head. A warmth, surprisingly soft, spread through her from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. 'You are a remarkable little girl, Ingrid,' he rumbled. 'And your sheep shall be returned to you.' He stood up, his enormous form stretching almost to the ceiling of the ice castle.
Then, he turned towards a vast, frosted window that looked out onto an endless, white landscape. He took a deep, deep breath, not a roaring blast like the blizzard that had carried the sheep away, but a soft, gentle breath, like a whispered lullaby. And as he breathed, a wondrous thing happened. The air in front of him shimmered, turning from frosty white to a soft, golden glow. The ice on the windowpane began to melt, dripping like tiny, silver tears.