Disclaimer: Sandbox privileges only, ma'am!

Notes: I seem to have developed a hitherto unknown talent for finding little fics that I barely remember writing. The notes originally attached to this one assure me that I wrote it about two years ago for Cat McDougall, who had been having a Very Bad Day with snow shovels.

White as Snow

"And then, did the Single Mother sally forth with her trusty Companion Snow Shovel to slay the beast!"

I pause, one front hoof resting on the icy crust of the thick layer of snow coating the world around us, and turn my head far enough to direct a glare at my Chosen. :You are not funny.:

Rinda merely tucks her hands in the pockets of her quilted winter coat and grins unrepentadly at me. "You were the one who agreed to us coming to stay with my parents over Midwinter," she points out with regretable logic. "I did warn you that the snow was bad this close to the mountains."

I snort loudly and bash at the snow with one hoof, breaking it into a freezing mush which I can wade a short distance forwards through before having to stop and kick some more.

:Bad snow is snow that makes old tree branches snap off. Bad snow is snow that requires shovelling out of the way so paths are clear. Bad snow means you don't see the littles for a month because they're busy constructing snow tunnels.: I kick vehemantly at the snow and flail forwards a few steps more. :This isn't bad snow, this is ridiculous snow!:

"Oh, you're exaggerating." Rinda seats herself more comfortably on the windowledge she's using as a perch and looks around at the ice-locked landscape with fondness.

:Exaggerating? Exaggerating?!: I shuffle myself around until my hooves make contact with something underneath me other than snow. I then stamp down hard. The sound is wooden. Wooden and hollow. :I'm standing on the tack shed roof! You're sitting in a first floor window! The snow is twenty feet deep!:

"You get used to it, Sarifin," Rinda reassures me. "It's not that bad; Gilli thinks it's wonderful!"

I look down at the snow— the mushed bits reach almost to my stifles and the edge of the solid area is somewhat higher than that— and wonder if I can kill myself with it.

:Your son could be dead at the bottom of all this and you wouldn't know.:

"Don't be silly; all of the snow tunnels have to be checked by an adult and shored up with planking before use. Gilli knows he has to stay in the larger tunnels, and even if he didn't, Fird's with him and won't let him get in trouble."

I sigh in defeat. :I knew I should have trusted that bad feeling I got when I first saw your parent's stables.:

"Whatever do you mean?"

:Rinda, there is a ramp— how many other stables have you seen with two floors?!:

"Lots around here," Rinda scoops up some snow and pitches it at my nose. The snowball falls short and lands with a soft splatting sound.

:Why did I Choose you?: I wonder aloud. :Why couldn't I Choose someone from somewhere warm? Or a Hawkbrother— if you'd been a Hawkbrother we'd both be soaking in hot pools instead of spending Midwinter under twenty feet of snow.:

A second snowball plasters itself over my face and I object loudly.

Rinda sighs. "If you've stopped complaining?" It appears to be a rhetorical question, as my Chosen continues almost immediately. "I was originally looking for you to let you know that Mother is insisting that you move into the manor house itself. She's already had the servants stripping down and adapting the ground floor suite next to mine for your convenience."

:What?:

"And both of my parents have decided that if you don't start putting in an appearance— in person— for the evening gatherings, they're going to tie your tail to the grate in the main hall."

:Your parents are as strange as you and your son.:

"I'll take that as a 'yes' and a 'oh, if I must', shall I?"

I shift my weight from hoof to hoof, making the snow (and probably the wood-shingled roof below me) creak audibly. :How'm I supposed to get inside? I can't see me fitting through that window, and I can't imagine that I'm going to mix well with most of the staircases.:

"The courtyard and drive in front of the main entrance have been cleared out and ramped down to ground level," Rinda says airily. "The quickest way for you to get there would be to go back into the stables, down and round through the tunnels."

:I am not voluntarily going down into those death traps.:

Third snowball. Between the eyes.

"The tunnels are perfectly safe, Sarafin."

I draw myself up and try to look as dignified as one can when chest-deep in snow standing on a tackshed roof. :I prefer the fresh air.:

Rinda shakes hr head. "Fine," she says with resignation. She leans forwards, holding onto one side of the window frame for balance, and points down the side of the manor house, to my left. "That's the shortest way round to the front, by the rose gardens."

I give the featureless white vista (apart from the occasional humping indicating the top of a tree) an unimpressed look.

"Just stay away from the trees, the snow tends to get unstable around them and I'm not sure which ones are being used for tunnel junctions and air-holes this year. This last fall of snow's covered up all the marker flags and they've not been re-hoisted yet."

:Yes, mum.: I glumly try to extricate myself from the mushed up snow crowding around me and stand at least a bit closer to the surface.

"I'll see you at the front entrace!" Rinda vanishes with a cheery wave, pulling the glazed window shut with a decisive click.

I sigh loudly. :Marvellous,: I say, to no-one in particular. :Just marvellous.: