The ice-sheathed reed cage was more than a solution; it became a symbol. In the mornings, before their breath even had time to mist in the air, people would walk to the stream just to see it. The rising sun would set the ice fortress ablaze with pinks and golds, a dazzling, transient cathedral built around the humble, enduring work of their hands. The steady chuckle of water within was the town's heartbeat, a constant reassurance. They had not conquered winter; they had made a pact with it.