Stories

Piplup and the Frozen Bridge

Piplup reaches a mountain bridge determined to cross alone. When the ice gives way, three very different travelers must find a route none of them can manage by themselves.

9 min read · Adventure · October 4, 2026

Piplup approaches a turquoise ice bridge above a snowy mountain ravine.

The first footprints

Piplup wanted the first footprints on the bridge to be his. All morning, the thought had warmed him more effectively than the weak winter sun. He had climbed out of the coastal snowfields before breakfast, followed the red trail markers through the pines, and reached the mountain crossing while the powder still lay smooth across its surface.

The bridge was old ice, built up through many winters between two shelves of rock. Beneath it, the ravine twisted out of sight. Meltwater could be heard somewhere below, although nothing above looked capable of melting. Piplup brushed a little snow from the edge. The blue surface reflected his face, making him look twice as important and rather taller than he actually was.

A Bergmite was resting beside the near marker, so still that Piplup almost mistook it for a fallen piece of the bridge. When it moved, he jumped backward. Bergmite shuffled toward the crossing and paused. Its small feet pressed into the snow. It looked at the bridge, then at the sun, then back toward the trail, as if those three things belonged to the same question.

Piplup did not intend to wait for an answer. On the far shelf, the path led down to a lake where his friends would gather before dark. He had told them he could manage the mountain route, and he had pictured arriving first, standing calmly beside the water while everyone else struggled through the longer forest trail. Arriving in company would spoil the picture.

A Sneasel emerged from a cleft in the rock above them. She had crossed the ravine many times and carried a strip of dried bark for chewing. Her claws clicked against the near marker. Then she crouched and scraped away snow beside the bridge's root. A thin dark seam appeared where ice met stone. Bergmite moved closer. Piplup studied the seam, but it seemed very small compared with the bridge.

He stepped onto the crossing. The ice gave a sharp little pop. Piplup froze, then glanced back to see whether anyone had noticed. Sneasel had. She extended one claw toward the seam, which was now a little longer. Piplup told himself that ice made noises. The lake made noises every winter, and the lake was perfectly fine. He took another step, keeping his chest lifted.

Behind him came a scrape and a soft shuffle. Sneasel had followed to the first solid ridge, with Bergmite close to the bank. Piplup did not look back again. His footprints ran neatly through the white powder, and the opposite shelf appeared so close that he could almost imagine standing on it already. Then the bridge made a sound much deeper than a pop.

Sneasel shows Bergmite a crack at the edge of the ice bridge. — Sneasel notices a seam that the smooth snow has hidden.

The shelf below

The near end dropped first. Snow puffed upward, blotting out the bank. Piplup threw himself forward as a long slab tilted beneath him. He slid on his belly, flippers digging uselessly at the slick surface, until his feet struck a ridge. Sneasel caught the rock wall with her claws. Bergmite, too heavy for the broken lip, slipped through the gap and vanished in a cloud of powder.

Piplup heard a thump instead of a splash. He peered over the side and saw Bergmite sitting on a wide ledge a short way below. The ledge ran beneath the bridge, protected by an overhang. Snow had piled against its outer edge, and a shallow crack opened at the back. Bergmite looked up, blinking slowly. The sight was such a relief that Piplup forgot to feel embarrassed.

Sneasel climbed down first. She tested each hold and stopped on the ledge, then reached up toward Piplup. He considered refusing the offered paw. The remaining slab trembled. He considered nothing further. With Sneasel braced against the rock, he slid down to a lower hold and dropped the last short distance into soft snow. Above them, another chunk of ice fell away with a hollow boom.

Their ledge had two ends. One disappeared beneath a curtain of frozen water; the other narrowed against a vertical wall. Sneasel could climb that wall, but Bergmite could not. Piplup might swim the ravine stream if he could reach it, but he could not see where it went. The cleft at the back of the ledge was the only route all three might fit through.

It opened into a pocket of shelter, dry except for a little snow that had blown through the entrance. Piplup's flippers stung where the ice had scraped them. Sneasel crouched out of the wind, and Bergmite settled across the draughtiest part of the opening. Beyond its square little body, snow began to fall. The sun disappeared so quickly that afternoon seemed to have been folded away.

Piplup stared at his footprints. On the mountain above, they would lead onto a bridge that no longer existed. At the lake, his friends would eventually notice he had not arrived. He wished he had taken the forest trail. He wished, less comfortably, that he had listened at the crossing. Sneasel offered him half the dried bark. It tasted bitter, but chewing gave him something to do besides wish.

A drop struck the stone near his feet. Then another fell farther back in the shelter. Piplup turned. Behind a thin shelf of rock, darkness narrowed into a passage, and beneath that darkness he heard running water. The sound was quiet and regular, quite unlike the falling bridge. He lifted his head. Their shelter might be more than a place to wait.

Piplup and Bergmite shelter beneath an overhang beside a narrow rock passage. — The fallen ledge gives them shelter and an unexpected place to begin looking.

Three different routes

The passage followed the meltwater beneath the mountain shelf. Piplup squeezed through first and found a shallow pool, clear enough to show every rounded stone. Beyond it, the channel bent toward a pale patch of daylight. He returned to the shelter, shook snow from his head, and tapped the wet stone. Sneasel listened. Bergmite shifted aside so they could inspect the passage together.

Getting everyone through was the first problem. Bergmite fitted into the opening, but a knob of ice on its back caught beneath the lowest rock. Piplup pushed from behind and achieved absolutely nothing. Sneasel stopped him, examined the floor, and scraped away the loose snow. With the extra inch beneath its feet, Bergmite could shuffle forward. Piplup learned that pushing harder was not always the next useful action.

The shallow pool led to an ice chute descending toward an opening in the ravine wall. Through that opening, they could see a narrow shelf of snow and, beyond it, the forest trail. The chute was too steep to walk. Sneasel could work down the rock beside it, but Piplup would slide fast, and Bergmite might slide faster. At the bottom, the water continued through a hole none of them wanted to enter.

Sneasel descended alone, choosing the rock holds instead of the ice. Piplup waited at the top this time. He watched her reach the opening and stamp down a little wall of snow across the chute's lower end. It would not stop Bergmite at speed, but it would show exactly where to turn. She climbed partway back and placed a fallen branch diagonally against the rocky side.

Bergmite lowered itself onto the chute and held its small feet against the edges. Its broad shape fitted the channel closely enough to slow the descent. Piplup followed just behind, gripping the rough ice of Bergmite's back with both flippers. They moved a short distance at a time. Whenever Bergmite paused, Piplup checked the route below instead of pretending that momentum was the same thing as courage.

At the branch, Sneasel reached toward him. Piplup stepped onto the rock while she guided Bergmite around the snowy marker and into the opening. One more shuffle, one turn, and all three stood on the outer shelf. Fresh air struck them. Across the ravine, the broken bridge hung like a crooked blue tooth, much farther above than Piplup had expected. His legs felt oddly weak.

The forest trail was near, but a ridge of drifted snow separated it from the shelf. Bergmite went first, pressing a stable track through the powder. Sneasel broke the crust at the top. Piplup followed in the hollow they made, carrying the branch because it had been useful and he did not quite want to leave it behind. Nobody was making the first footprints anymore. They were making one trail together.

Piplup follows Bergmite slowly down an icy channel toward daylight. — Bergmite's careful pace becomes the safest speed for the whole group.

Arrival after dark

By the time they reached the trees, night had begun to gather between the trunks. The snowfall stopped. Sneasel led them along the marked trail, pausing where branches obscured the next red sign. Piplup was no longer impatient with pauses. He used each one to catch his breath, check that Bergmite was close behind, and look at the parts of the forest he would have missed by rushing.

At a crossroads, he planted the branch across the path to the ruined crossing. Sneasel added fallen sticks and piled snow around them. It was not a proper repair, and someone would need to close the route in the morning, but it would make a late traveler stop and look. Piplup stood beside their crooked barrier until he was certain it could be seen from both directions.

The lake appeared through the pines as a flat black space with stars inside it. A lantern glowed on the near bank. His friends had taken the forest path and were waiting beside a pile of food, pretending not to worry. When they saw him, they came running. Piplup started to lift his chest for the story he had planned to tell, then let it settle.

The story he actually told involved a crack he had ignored, a bridge that had broken, and two travelers who had made sure he did not have to solve everything alone. It was less impressive in some ways. In other ways, he found, it was much more interesting. Sneasel accepted a share of the food. Bergmite settled beside the bank, its frosty back reflecting the lantern in small, steady sparks.

Above the northern trees, a pale band of green appeared. It widened slowly, folding over itself until the whole edge of the sky seemed to breathe. Nobody had expected an aurora that night. Piplup looked at it, then at the lake. Two skies shivered there, one above and one below. The sight made his carefully planned early arrival feel very small and very far away.

Sneasel left before the lantern burned low, returning to a hollow she knew along the forest path. Bergmite stayed near the cold water. Piplup watched them go and thought about the bridge: Sneasel's claws, Bergmite's patient feet, and the little pool he had been able to explore. Each of them had found something the others could not. None of it looked much like standing alone on a far bank.

The next morning, a ranger went up to mark the crossing closed. Piplup followed as far as the crossroads, where their rough barrier still stood. He did not ask to go farther. He waited while the new sign was fixed in place, then took the forest route home. At the first bend, Bergmite caught up. Piplup stepped aside to make room. There was plenty of fresh snow, and he no longer cared whose footprints came first.

An original fan-created story by the Poke Fun Play editorial team. Illustrations generated for this adventure.

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