The world as Zelda knew it had been changing for as long as she had known it. Winter’s freeze was growing harsher and harsher; summer’s heat was increasingly unbearable; and the sea’s level was rising higher and higher, and higher still until that fateful day when the streets of Zelda’s small town began turning to creeks, then streams, then rivers. By now, the village people and whatever descendants of the Wooly Mammoth and Hairless Otter that had once been there were there no longer. They had all long evacuated or evaporated.
Even the ice man, who had cometh for the last time at the very last light of day for that very last time had gone, for he had only been able to bring to her that which he had left: a last three-quarters chunk of ice.
Now only Zelda remained, floating on her family’s igloostead which was now the size of an icecube.