Hershel is 14, Desmond is 18.

I despise snow. Here is a list of reasons why:

1. The heavy snow makes a toilsome trek to Stansbury's inn where Raymond resides these days.

2. In this weather the post doesn't get delivered. Before she left for her sports scholarship, Mira ordered that I keep her updated on the progress of the fencing club. Mira finds Ascot insufferable and Hershel is rather scared of her, so I am the only member capable of the correspondence. (Besides, she is one of the few who can match me in wit...)

3. It's the middle of February and some of us are preparing for final exams. Much to Ma and Pas' shock, I currently don't intend on going to university while Targent remain at large. But I'd at least like to get into school to have that opportunity in future.

Hershel should use this time off to study, but as soon as he sees the frosty windowsill and the frozen river, he rushes outside. For all his composure, my adolescent brother becomes a little boy again at the mere sight of snow...

"Wheeeee~!" Me and my brother squeal as we go shooting down the hill. I've never seen so much snow— the outside of our house looks like something out of a fairytale. Like 'The Snow Queen' or 'Jack Frost'. They had to close my school today because no one can get inside, but I don't mind. Dad got this old sledge out of the garden shed for us!

At the top, Mum yelps, "Hold on tight, you two!" I grip my brother's waist tighter, but we barely hear her. The wind whistles in my ears and makes my eyes water. I can't see. We're going faster and faster and faster...

Dad's waiting at the bottom to catch us. We're going to crash into him...!

SPLAT!

I jump as something white splats against the bedroom window. Fury replacing my surprise, I surge to my feet and fling open the window. A second snowball flies through, hitting me in the face. I wipe my glasses, my blood boiling hot enough to melt the slush, and glare at the culprit.

"Hey, Des!"

"ASCOT!" I thunder. The ginger pest stands below the window, armed with snowballs. Hershel, Angela and Henry— the Ascot family's servant boy— are beside him, wearing winter coats and wary expressions. (They should be frightened for Ascot's sake.)

Ascot hollers, "Come out and play with us!"

"I haven't got time for your childish games!"

"You sound like Mira Sharpace..." Ascot purses his lips. "Are you busy writing her love letters?"

"Of course not," I scoff when the four of them start sniggering. How immature.

Ascot persists, "Then if you're not busy, you can play with us."

"Come on, Desmond," Hershel adjoins, his words muffled by his scarf.

Angela giggles, "Have some fun!"

"I am having fun. Without you hooligans bothering me." Before I can slam the window, another snowball meets my face.

"That one was Hershel!" Ascot shouts.

That does it. I vow, "YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!"

Ten minutes later, I storm out of the cottage bundled up like an Eskimo. (Ma insisted in case I catch a cold.) No matter; this will serve as my armour. I scoop up some snow, crunching away from the safety of the garden fence. "Are you a coward, Ascot? Show yourself!"

Then... an ambush. I'm pelted with snowballs from four different sides. My vision is obscured by snow. I collapse, dazed and defeated by a couple of fourteen-year-olds. Briefly, I hear Hershel wondering if I'm all right, but Randall convinces him to leg it while I'm still out for the count...

"Get up." Suddenly, hands haul me out of the snow. I scrub my glasses clean to find Alphonse Dalston leering over me.

Defensive, I demand, "Did Ascot send you to finish me off?"

"You think I'm working for Bratscot? As if!" Dalston dusts snow off his jacket. "I was just on my way back from the market when that brat chucked a load of snowballs at me. Looks like he got you, too."

"Only because he was heavily armed and had backup." I scowl. "He's turned my own brother against me."

"Same with Angela— he's a bad influence on her... Want to team up and beat Bratscot?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Our unlikely alliance set, we resolve to recruit Raymond before cutting Ascot and his posse off in the older part of the market. With my brains, Dalston's brawn and Raymond's... forbearance, we'll be unstoppable. But it helps to have an army of snowmen (and one snowdog built by Dalston) blocking the path out of the market.

How does one bait an Ascot? By using a puzzle, of course! Hershel and the others appear reluctant, but the redhead can't resist coming to investigate the snowmen, falling right into our trap.

"Think fast, Bratscot!" Dalston pops up behind a snowman to throw a snowball.

Ascot gasps, but manages to dodge it. "You're going to have to do better than that, Dalston."

Raymond and I also reveal ourselves. I sneer, "How does three on four sound?"

"Three on four... Yeah, we can take you." Randall smirks, turning to his team. "Right, guys? Guys...?"

Hershel and Angela have already started running. Henry is the only one to remain at Ascot's side. However, Dalston knocks the servant boy over with a decapitated snowman head.

"No, Henry...!" Ascot protests, reaching for him.

Henry wheezes, "Go on without me, Master Randall."

Ascot doesn't need to be told twice. He always boasts that he's a fast sprinter, and it seems to be true as he bolts away from us, avoiding my shots. I cry, "Don't let him get away!"

Then, Raymond fires a single snowball that soars through the air, straight and true. It smacks Ascot right on the head just as he reaches the edge of the old market. He slumps to the ground with a groan. "Okay, you win..."

Dalston punches the air in victory. I grin at Raymond as he offers Henry a hand up. "Who knew you had such good aim?"