Here is a tale of the trees in a wood
They were never that pleased on the land that they stood.
So they upped and they walked on as far as they could
'Til they felt the sun shine on their branches.
There they did stand and there they did stay
When there came a young boy who was running away
From a mad world, a bad world, a world of decay
And it's comfort he sought in their branches

“What ya cryin fer kiddo?”

The soft melodic sobs echoing through the maze of deciduous forest suddenly stopped with a shuddering gulp, leaving behind only the low hum that was the living sound of the woodland.

The little face of a small boy snapped around in surprise toward the deep, rumbling tone of the first human voice he had heard in many weeks. His whole body appeared to flinch, seemingly expecting some kind of tongue lashing or a cursory blow to the back of the head. Yet, the moment passed in the blink of an eye as if he knew the face that he stared into also recognised the pain he felt in his small bird-cage of a chest.

Logan gazed down on the diminutive but dirty-looking urchin that huddled between the roots at the base of a tall Oak tree. His small hands, nails black with earth, clung tightly to his legs which were pulled up to his chest in protection. Two large eyes blinked back at him through a thick tangled bird’s nest of russet hair; deep dark pools that seemed to swim from earth brown to leaf green and back again.

Logan, careful not to spook the tiny creature at his feet, steadily lowered himself down until his eyes were level with the shivering boy.

“It’s ok li’l fella, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He murmured in his deep but gentle baritone.

At his words the child seemed to ease his grip on his knees but still remained still and huddled between the tree roots.


I was little boy lost, and I was little boy blue
I am little Jack Frost but I am warm through and through
It's not easy to hide when your heart's on full view
Oh, tonight, cruel world be forgiving
Oh, for once in my life I am living.


“What’s yer name kid?” The boy looked down at his bare feet seemingly unable to comprehend the question. “Ya even got a name?” Logan persisted gently.

The small face rose to meet Logan’s look. Two large tears rolled over the rims of his eyes and tracked down his cheeks, scoring two white lines through the dirt.

“Hey…ain’t no need ta cry little man. You tell me when ya ready, ok?” Logan offered.

On finding the forest urchin, Logan had decided to make his camp in the clearing a few hundred feet from where the boy sat huddled. Figuring that when he was ready the child would emerge, Logan busied himself with making a small fire and setting out his sleeping mat under the canopy of trees. After some time, two little eyes peaked above the thick roots of the Oak tree to observe the rummaging of the darkly stout man. Logan took this as a good sign and decided that dinner was in order.

Now entranced by the flames of the fire and the warmth it offered, the child slowly shuffled from behind the root and sat, knees pulled into his chest to watch the man. Forgeting his misery for a moment he wiped away the tears from his eyes, smearing the salty liquid across his face to mingle with the grime in random brown swirls. He sniffled back the viscous liquid that colleted in a blob on the tip of his nose wiping it on the tattered sleeve of his sweater.

Logan turned slightly to the fire, poking the flames with a stick and giving the boy time to adjust to his presence.

“Ya know it’s ok if ya ain’t got a name.” He finally said. “I didn’t have one fer a long time…well I did but I didn’t know it.” He paused again to consider those dim memories. “They call me Logan now, an’ Wolverine when they want somethin’. Was a time…way back ‘for you was ever born…when they called me James.” At this the boy’s head snapped up and Logan took note of the reaction. “Ya know that name, huh?”

For a moment the boy made no movement.

“It’s an old name,” Logan added, careful not to discourage the child. “’bout as old as I am, I’d guess…”

“Ja…Jac..Jack,” the boy finally stammered out, surprising Logan with the sudden sound of his small soprano voice. “My…My name…is…Jack.” The boy finished, swallowing hard as he fought to make the words escape his throat.

“Oh, so ya do have a voice then little’un.” Logan smiled, placing the stick down by the fireside.

“My name is Jack.” The boy answered again, his throat now clear after months of un-use.

“Jack huh? Short for James, like me then.” Logan smiled in his direction.

Jack nodded.

“Well that’s good.” Logan replied. “Least ways we both got names. Ya got any other names Jack?”

The boy shuffled on the hard ground, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the question.

“Yas…,” the boy began timidly, and gulped again as he tried to form the sounds, looking to Logan with eyes that asked for help. “Yas….”

“Take ya time Jack, we got all night.” Logan encouraged him.

“Yasniltes.” He finally forced out.

“Yasniltes?” Logan repeated, letting the unusual name roll over his tongue. “Well that’s different, kiddo. Sounds Native Indian,” he mused, “Ya got some Indian in ya somewhere, eh?” He asked, his brain vaguely recognising the sound of the words from a long distant life.

Jack nodded but said nothing more.

Logan delved through his mind, seeking out the word. Finally he found something of what he was looking for. “Yas-nil-tes, I know that.” He spoke out loud. “It means… snow or frost don’t it? Something like that. No, wait, frosted snow….Crusted Snow! That’s it.” The child made no move even at Logan’s eureka moment.

Logan smiled to himself at the significance of this finding. “Well, well. So what we got ourselves here then.” He smiled at the boy. “Yas-nil-tes, Crusted-Snow…Our very own Little Jack Frost. Now ain’t that the thing.” He smiled. “C’mon little Jack, I ain’t gonna bite ya, come sit by the fire.”

The grubby little child sat rock still for a long moment. Logan turned his attention back to the fire forcing showers of sparks into the air as he poked the embers again. His eyes seemed focused on the flames but from this keen peripheral vision he watched the boy.

Considering that the man before him was most definitely not a threat, Jack shuffled slowly forward on his bottom, scuffing up the leaf mould as he did so.

“See, ain’t that better now.” Logan chuckled as the boy came to a stop a few feet from the fire, keeping plenty of distance between him and the stranger. “Now, what’d ya say ta a little rabbit?” Logan asked cheerfully, reaching into the back-pack at his side and pulling out a rabbit carcass and a large bowie knife.

I was little boy lost, and I was little boy blue
I am little Jack Frost and but I am warm through and through
It's not easy to hide when your heart's on full view
Oh, tonight, cruel world be forgiving
Oh, for once in my life I am living.

It was clear from the ravenous way the boy ripped and gouged at the meat that it had been sometime since he had eaten, let alone eaten cooked food. Logan watched in bemused enjoyment as the little creature consumed over half the roasted rabbit and then looked to Logan for the remainder. With a pack full of cold rations for emergencies Logan handed over the hind joint, only to have it snatched ravenously from his large hand.

Jack could barely chew and swallow, choosing instead to do both at the same time, which set off a bout of coughing. “Slow down little man, ya gonna choke yerself.” Logan laughed, passing the boy his flask of water. Jack glugged from it happily, letting two long streams run down the sides of his mouth and into his lap. When satiated he drew the flask away, wiping his chin with the flat of his hand as he smacked his lips together in satisfaction. “Enjoy that, huh?” Logan asked as he ripped open a freeze-dried bag of stew and added boiling water to it from the pot hanging from a stick over the fire.

Jack nodded in satisfaction.

“Good, well looks like I’m gonna have ta do a little more huntin’ before I head home.”

At the words, Jack’s face fell in despondency. Home was a word he had not heard in a long time. Logan noted the sudden change in Jack’s expression; it was clear to see that his words had hit a raw nerve. Careful not to scare the child back into his earlier insecurity, but keen to discover further why he was alone in the forest, Logan offered the boy a chocolate covered cereal bar.

Gingerly, Jack took the offering, sniffing it first before placing it to his lips. As the chocolate melted onto his tongue, Jack’s eyes brightened with an innate child-like excitement. Quietly, Logan cleared away the remains of the meal and sat once more with the stick, poking it at the now glowing embers.

“How come ya this far inta the forest, Jack?” Logan asked, careful to avoid the word ‘home’ again. Jack’s jaw stopped chewing for a moment, two large puddles of tears collecting in his eyes once more. “Hey, it’s ok, fella. I understand. Been times when I needed ta be on my own too.” He added ruefully. “But yer awfully young ta be on yer own.”

Jack returned to his chewing, slowly this time, his eyes staring at his lap. He swallowed the remainder of the bar hard, mainly to hide the small sob that escaped his lips at the same time. For so long he had craved the company of another human-being, and for so long no-one came, until eventually being alone was simply what he was. Now, here sat a stranger, a man who talked to him and fed him and asked him things and he had no idea what to say. Wiping his eyes again he looked up at the big man. “No-one.” he whispered.

Logan watched the child as he sat dejectedly on the hard ground; shoulders deflated, face muddy and tear stained. His heart melted for the young child alone in this hard place. “How long ya been here Jack?” Logan asked quietly. Clearly the child wanted to talk.

“Long time.” The boy answered.

“An’ no-one’s lookin’ fer ya?”

Jack shook his head.

Logan considered. Was the boy a run-away or had he been abandoned? “Ya got anyone Jack? Parents, brothers, sisters?”

Jack looked back down at his lap and nodded.

“Don’t ya think they might be missin’ ya?”

Jack shook his head once more.

“Why’s that?” Logan asked.

Jack looked up. “Hate me.” He said and suddenly the dam that had held back the wall of tears broke and four huge droplets bounced down his cheeks and splashed onto his dirty little pants.

Carefully, Logan shuffled around the fire so as not to spook him, stopping just close enough for the child to feel his presence. “Hate’s a strong word Jack. I’m sure that ain’t the case.”

“Yes it is!” the boy spat back with some venom; long bottled up frustration, sadness, bewilderment and pangs of guilt issued forth in a torrent. “They HATE ME!” he yelled. With a sudden turn of speed Jack bolted. Flying to his feet and dashing into the forest beyond, taking Logan by surprise.

Quickly, Logan rose to his feet with a sigh, his psychology skills somewhat lacking. Without rushing he dowsed the fire with soil and set off in the direction Jack had run. Sniffing the air it wasn’t hard to follow the boy’s route through the trees or find the tracks he had made in the leaf mould. After a short distance, Logan heard the soft sounds of sobbing and halted.

“Jack?” He called gently, “It’s Logan. Listen kiddo, I understand, really I do. I’ve been there myself. I just wanna help ya. I can help ya, just trust me.”

“NO!” came the curt answer.

Logan turned in the direction of the voice, taking a few well-placed steps toward the sound. “I know what it’s like ta loose yer family Jack. I’ve been there…more often than most.” He added, almost to himself. “I’ve run away too. Sometimes it helps bein’ alone, but it’s lonely right?” Logan crept closer to the sobbing. “But ya don’t have to be lonely Jack, I can be yer friend if ya like.” With the skills of a hunter and the hunted, Logan crept around a tall Beech tree where the crying emanated. “Just listen to me for a little while ok? An’ if ya don’t wanna talk ta me then that’s ok too.” Two more steps brought him within sight of the child huddled in the roots of the tree. But the soft muffled crunch of dried leaves roused Jack from his tears. He looked up momentarily in time to see the looming figure of the stranger at his side. Deftly, he pushed himself from the trunk and launched himself into a run, but he underestimated the huntsman’s skill of the man trying to help him.

With blinding speed Logan launched himself after the boy, grabbing his shoulders before he had time to flee. Jack squawked and fought as Logan wrapped him in a bear-hug of a grip, careful not to hurt the child as he did so, but determined to calm him down.

With all the fear and determination of a captured animal Jack punched, kicked and scratched at his captor. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“It’s ok kiddo. It’s ok.” Logan crooned, trying his best to calm the creature in his grip.

“Let go! I hate you, I hate you!” The boy yelled, the months of isolation finally coming to a head in a welter of furious anger.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok.” Logan continued, pulling the boy into his chest to control the raging whirlwind of arms and legs.

“I ha..aaa..tteee yyy…oooo.uuuu.” The fiery torrent of venom began to crack as rage gave way to heartbreak and then disintegrated into a sobbing mass of tears.

As the small body began to relax, Logan carefully released his grip but held the boy close in his arms. “It’s ok, Jack, it’s ok.” He whispered in his ear.

After a few moments the small dirty arms of the little forest creature slide around Logan’s neck as his head lolled onto his shoulder. Logan had to fight back the tightening in his chest as he felt hot tears fall onto his cheek. Sliding slowly to the ground Logan held the child close and rocked him there until the sobs subsided and the shaking stopped.

After a long time, Jack raised his head. “You’re not angry with me?” He asked, confused by Logan’s persistence and his continued presence.

Logan’s brow furrowed but he smiled down at the boy, “Why would I be angry with ya, kiddo?” He asked.

Jack shrugged. “Everyone gets angry with me.” He answered. “No-one likes me.”

“An’ why would than be?” Logan pressed a little.

“Cos..cos.” Jack paused and then pulled away from Logan. Recognising that the boy wasn’t about to make a second break for it, he released him and let him settle beside him. “Cos I’m a freak.” Jack finished.

The words struck Logan to the heart. He had heard those words so many times before, but why would such a small child use such language? What had he been through to be convinced of such a thing? “Yer not a freak Jack. What makes ya say that?” Logan asked painfully.

“Cos my Daddy says so.” Jack replied matter-of-factly, choking back another sob.

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, anger and frustration coursing through his body at Jack’s words. “Then yer Daddy’s an as….” Logan bit his lip before the words had time to form. “Don’t let it get ta ya Logan,” he told himself “not in front of the child.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Yer Daddy don’t know what he’s talkin’ ’bout Jack.” Logan replied. “Is that why yer here, Jack? Did ya Daddy throw ya out?” Logan continued.

Jack shook his head.

“Then why’re ya here?”

Jack slowly looked up, his big greenish-brown eyes meeting Logan’s cool blue. “Watch.” Jack whispered.

Without waiting, Jack knelt up as Logan scooted back a little to give the boy room. Carefully, Jack ran his hand over the crunchy brown leaf mould that carpeted the forest floor. Momentarily he had found what he seemed to be searching for - a large maple leaf that had fallen the previous autumn. It was still completely intact except that the once bright green colour had now drained from its surface leaving only a crisp husk of its former self. Jack placed it carefully in his palm as if it were some wounded animal and raising the other hand he placed a grubby finger to the leaf’s withered stem.

Before Logan’s eyes the brittle leaf began to soften. From the tip of Jack’s finger a soft green hue began to spread out along the veins, filling it once more with life-giving chloroplast. As it reached the tips they uncurled from death into life and as Jack lifted his finger from its surface the leaf fluttered to the ground as if newly fallen.

Transfixed by the child’s wondrous ability, Logan finally looked up from the green leaf lying on the floor of the woodland and he eyes widened at the sight. The small boy, no longer stared at him from under a thatch of filthy brown hair and pale skin tarnished with mud. Now, bright emerald eyes glinted in the last dappled rays of light, a soft green head of hair - still matted with forest debris - crowned his head and the once pale skin glistened through the dirt in a luminous sea green. “You see,” Jack finally spoke. “I’m a freak.”

There he found love and there he found joy
And the warmth in his heart oh, it filled the young boy
And his friends taught him magic and secrets of old
While the trees kept him safe with their branches.

It took a long moment for Logan to register what had just taken place. Sitting back against the tree he raised an eyebrow and finally he smiled. Shaking his head he replied. “No kiddo, yer just different…like me.” Taking a small broken twig from the ground at his side, he gouged it hard against his forearm, running it along the flesh till it reached his wrist. A think line of blood oozed from the thin wound and as he held out his arm, the flesh carefully closed over it. Licking a finger Logan wiped away the blood to reveal healed skin.

It was Jack’s turn to be wide-eyed yet surprisingly unafraid. Glancing up he stared at his new-found companion. “You’re a freak too?” He asked with such naivety, Logan almost laughed.

“No, not a freak, a mutant. There ain’t nothing wrong with ya Jack, don’t let anyone tell ya different.” Logan reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. As he did so the green shade began to seep from the boy’s skin and eyes, until he once more resembled the lost little urchin Logan had found so many hours before.

“So what else can ya do, Jack?” Logan asked fascinated by the child’s abilities.

“Lots of things.” The boy replied, suddenly pleased that someone was taking interest and that he wouldn’t suffer a long beating for daring to demonstrate his talents. Brushing back some of the leaf mould, Jack placed his hand to the earth below. Within moments small shoots began to push through soil and spring flowers; Bluebells, Ramsons, Campion and Celandine all burst into flower at his touch. His skin seemed to reflect their beauty in shades of green and his whole aura was one of happiness at seeing life appear at his hand.

“What about animal’s Jack, do ya have the same talent with them?” Logan asked with encouragement.

Jack nodded firmly. “Oh yes,” he said brightly, “Bird’s, I love birds.” With that he pushed himself from the ground and held out his hand. Logan listened as the boy seemed to burst into bird-song; his mouth giving forth the tweets and warbles no human voice could create. The soft flap of wings filled the woodland around them as all kinds of birds descended to the hand that called them. Logan’s smile broadened into a grin as he heard the child laugh for the first time since he had found him, a deep infectious laugh that had Logan joining in.

“Here.” Jack beckoned to Logan. For a moment he paused. “It’s ok.” Jack reassured the big man. Carefully, Logan shuffled over to where Jack stood. Kneeling at his side yet still the same height as the child, Logan cautiously followed the boy’s lead. “Hold out your hand.” He told him.

Logan lifted his large right hand until it was outstretched in front of him. “Don’t move.” Jack whispered. With a short whistle and a sharp answer from one of the birds on his hand Logan blinked as he felt the soft breeze of flapping wings and the sharp pressure of clawed feet as a large song thrush settled on his hand. His face broke into a wide smile as Jack whispered, “Stroke her, she likes it.”

Logan gingerly raised his left hand and brought a thick finger carefully to the warm breast of the woodland bird. She nuzzled against him and chirped furiously. Logan almost jumped back in surprise.

“She says you have clumsy fingers.” Jack laughed. “Like this.” he said, demonstrating to Logan the gentle action of stroking the bird. Logan imitated the action and soon found the bird singing sweetly in his palm.

“Ya understand what they say?”

“Yes, I guess so.” Jack nodded. “I don’t know how but I do.” He smiled at Logan and turned back to the birds now pitched on his hands, arms and shoulders.

I was little boy lost, and I was little boy blue
I am little Jack Frost but I am warm through and through
It's not easy to hide when your heart's on full view
Oh, tonight cruel world be forgiven


“Ya don’t have to be afraid Jack. I know what it’s like ta be different an’ I know a place were there are lots o’ kids just like you - all different, all with talents no-one else understands.” Jack sat, head bowed, listening to Logan’s description of the wondrous place known as ‘Xavier’s School for the Gifted’.

It was turning dark when he and the boy had returned to the small camp; Jack holding Logan’s hand tightly all the way, happy to have shared the wonders of the forest with his new friend without the threat of being hit or called names. Now in the light of the fire Logan tried to learn as much as he could of the boy’s past; the discovery of his love of nature, his developing abilities, the resentment of a violent father and the rejection of an estranged family. Finally and in utter desperation Jack had run away. With a Native Indian ancestry in his blood-line, it had seemed very natural to the boy to understand nature in all its forms and to commune with it. Yet he had been unable to understand why he had been shunned by his parents. Finding his way to the forest, he had finally found the home he had been searching for and, even though he was bitterly lonely, he had found solace in the trees and plants and animals.

Logan found it hard to believe that the boy had just turned 13. He was so small and fragile for his age and Logan had mistaken him for maybe 8 or 9. To Logan, the boy truly was Jack-in-the-Green, the woodland spirit, little jack frost; child-like in body and soul.

“Do ya want to come back with me?” Logan asked as he made them both a hot cup of broth.

“I’m not sure.” Jack said. “I miss people, but I love it here.”

“We have a wood at the mansion, lots of trees, and a garden, Ororo looks after that. She’d love a helper.”

Jack looked up and smiled. “If I came with you, what about my family?”

Logan’s brow furrowed. Even after all he had gone through he still cared about them. “You can see ‘em if ya want. I can take ya. Make sure yer safe.”

“I’m not sure they would want to see me.” Jack answered his own question.

“Maybe not.” Logan agreed.

“Do you think I can think about it?” Jack asked cautiously.

“‘Course ya can kiddo. Let’s say we sleep on it, right?”

“Ok.” Jack replied, taking a sip of his broth.

I was little boy lost, and I was little boy blue
I'm little Jack Frost but I am warm through and through
It's not easy to hide when your heart's on full view
Oh, tonight, cruel world be forgiving
Oh, for once in my life I am living.


Logan knew, even before he looked down, that the slow rhythmical breathing he felt against his chest signified the child had at last fallen asleep in his arms. The pale angelic face finally looked at peace even through the grime, and Logan gazed at him through a thin film of moisture that gathered unexpectedly in his eyes as he carefully reached up to brush away the rogue thatch of fringe from Jack’s forehead.

As the little figure resting gently in the crook of his elbow sighed and shuffled, Logan lay back quietly against the trunk of the broad oak tree they sat under. The strangest of sensations passed through the big man’s body as he did so. For a moment he felt his body tense in natural reaction, pulling the boy instinctively to his chest, yet somehow the sounds of the forest told him he had nothing to fear. As he closed his eyes the green canopy high above their heads rustled gently, though no night breeze caressed its leaves.

As sleep took him, a silent rainfall of emeralds and olives fluttered from the branches of the mighty King of the Forest; a lush, dew-covered blanket of foliage settled over them, protecting them from the night air. With a subterranean creak and groan that resonated deep into the thick mattress of leaf mould that supported their weight, the bark of the tree seemed to ripple and flow around them; lowering them both back with a timeless dexterity that elicited not a murmur from the peaceful pair. Great tap roots rose on either side encircling the Man of the Forest as he in turn embraced the sleeping Jack Frost.

Oh, tonight, cruel world be forgiving
Oh, for once in my life I am living.

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