Chapter One
The Big Snow
When the storm came, it hit the hills like a hammer. No sky
should hold as much snow as this, and because no sky could,
the snow fell, fell in a wall of white.
There was a small hill of snow where there had been, a few
hours ago, a little cluster of thorn trees on an ancient
mound. This time last year there had been a few early
primroses; now there was just snow.
Part of the snow moved. A piece about the size of an apple
rose up, with smoke pouring out around it. A hand no larger
than a rabbit's paw waved the smoke away.
A very small but very angry blue face, with the lump of snow
still balanced on top of it, looked out at the sudden white
wilderness.
"Ach, crivens!" it grumbled. "Will ye no' look at this? 'Tis
the work o' the Wintersmith! Noo there's a scunner that willna
tak' `no' fra' an answer!"
Other lumps of snow were pushed up. More heads peered out.
...
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