A hard freeze

It was an aching cold. The boy wanted to go out and see about the traps, but there was a cardinal sitting on the branch, staring at him—no way was he going to disturb it. The color was striking, the moment silent, breaking the spell seemed impossible. Who would move first?

After three frozen seconds, the bird quivered its feathers and startled the boy from his reverie. Shaking his head clear, the boy realized he'd just felt an entire three months go by, in that exact spot, as if their fates were sealed forever.

Three minutes of contemplating this vision, and tired from setting traps that failed to yield, the boy relaxed and rested there, considering carefully this bright and luminous creature, this bird who failed to fly south, who remained, rigid, considering him back, still as a frozen pond.

Three hours later and then three days of a hard freeze, both boy and bird sat silently, neither moving to breathe. In fact neither drew a breath at all, for the frost had set in quickly; the boy had fallen asleep, and the bird had finally starved in place.

Three months later, after that hard freeze thawed, the sun warmed and melted the ice that covered them both. Who would move first?  The spell, refusing to break, let nature take its intended course.