Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Garth Nix's novels or characters. And if you ever happen to stumble upon this, Mr Nix – thankyou for the stories!

Abhorsen could feel the coldness of death nibbling at his life force, the colour seeping from his very soul. Trapped within the Fourth Gate, it was all he could do to not give in to the eternal tug of the river, to succumb to the urge to be washed into peace. But there were still things to be done in the world of the living.

Part of him hoped Sabriel would come soon, to release him from his ethereal prison. But another part of him hated that she had to walk the same path as he.

Why should she have to suffer as he'd suffered? Why must she be forced to face death – and worse than death – every day? Why had he ever taught her the ways of the Abhorsen?

But, he remembered, he hadn't really taught her. She was born knowing.

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Abhorsen felt a tug on his sleeve, and looked down in surprise.

"I'm going to be a whistler when I grow up," the 5-year-old Sabriel told her father solemnly. Bundled up in coats, furs, stockings and mittens – almost to the point of hilarity - she stared up at him with wide, dark eyes.

He crouched down to her level, his boots crunching on the icy grass. "What kind of whistler, Sabriel?"

"You know, a whistler. Like you! I think I'm rather good at whistling."

Abhorsen blinked. He reached out a cold hand, and tugged on one of the knitted tassels of her striped beanie sadly, thoughtfully. "Don't you want to be something else? Like a ballerina? Or a –"

"No!" Sabriel replied stubbornly, her small face scrunching up in distaste. "I'm a good whistler, Father! Listen!"

She pursed her lips determinedly, and blew a single, sweet note. It resounded through the crisp afternoon air, stilling the birds in the trees. Abhorsen felt his eyes grow heavy, and begin to close….

…only to pop open in surprise as he fell backwards onto the freezing ground. He sat up, shaking his head drowsily, and looked to Sabriel. "SABRIEL! Don't you ever –"

Abhorsen broke off as he realised his daughter was curled up in the grass, eyes tightly shut, her breathing deep and slow. He chuckled, and leaned over, affectionately scooping her up into his cold arms. "You won't be much of a whistler if you send yourself to sleep, miss!"

He jumped as a he heard a muffled thud behind them. Abhorsen spun around, holding the Sabriel-bundle protectively with one arm, his other hand automatically reaching towards his bandolier… only to let out a loud belly-laugh as he found the source of the noise.

Abhorsen shook with laughter, and Sabriel stirred from her brief slumber. She began to squirm under her father's arm. "Father? Father! What's so funny?"

Finally poking her head out through her layers of furs, she looked around, and spotted a plump baby pigeon on the ground beneath a tree, blinking sleepily.

"Look, Father! I made the bird fall asleep!"

Abhorsen broke into a fresh round of laughter. Sabriel frowned. "It's not funny! I sounded just like Ranna. One day I'll be an even better whistler than you, just you wait!"

Sabriel shrank back into her furs as Abhorsen stopped laughing and looked at her sadly. "What – what's wrong?"

He forced a smile back to his face. "Nothing, my little bundle. Now let's get going before you kill any birds." And he picked her up, swinging her onto his shoulders, ignoring her protests, and restarted their trek towards the Wall.

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Abhorsen shut his eyes, his thoughts becoming slower as he let the mist wash over him. He wished she'd had more of a stable upbringing, rather than the wanderer lifestyle they'd lived before Sabriel was sent to Ancelstierre. He frowned, remembering the tough time she'd had fitting in with the other children before school started. But he let the thought go, to be lost amongst the fog of the gate, as he let his mind rest….

Please tell me what you think. I just wanted to write some moments about Sabriel and her father – it always seemed a shame they got so little time together in the book.