We trudged on through snow which hardened under our feet as the sun lowered into the horizon. This meant that somewhere nearby— “Halt!” I called, throwing my hand out and catching Michelle on the shoulder. Having everything bleached into tones of white, gray, or blue made differentiation of the landscape very difficult. “It’s our moat.” Snow fluttered across the river of ice. I could only assume that the alligators were dead. Naturally, the drawbridge was up. Not that it mattered now that the water and animals were frozen solid. I extended my arm for Michelle to take. In those high-heeled boots, she would fall and hurt herself. Crossing the moat arm in arm with Michelle, I found my moccasins skated easily, and I remembered the carefree evening Penelope had all but forced me to have at Goose Pond. A wistful, bittersweet smile turned up one corner of my lip. The gatehouse was deserted. There was no purpose to posting a man at its window, for the weather would certainly debilitate us.
