Jenny: The Comic In White

Kay lifted his hand and squinted against the few slow flurries that were still hanging in the air. Bedwyr, arms tucked close under his cloak, stood by mutely, gazing up the pasture with him. Everything looked refreshingly lively under a coat of snow. The grass had straggled up in places, just enough to make the pasture look unbearably grim and dead in winter's closing grip. He dropped his hand and put both on his hips, smiling crookedly. "Everything looks better in white," he observed.

Bedwyr shivered in silence a moment longer before replying, "It reminds me of a tomb, in a hopeful sort of way."

A wind blew a black speckling of dried apple leaves across the empty white landscape. It was very true, he reflected. They had killed the poor field, and under a slab of snow it would wait until spring to come to life again. Why could death not always be so serene and beautiful?

"Uh oh," his brother murmured, and he swung round to see the Erinman come striding up in their footsteps, bent unavoidably for them. "Here comes trouble. I'm still working on my right hook."

Kay snorted and shoved his cold hands down inside his belt. "I doubt he'll cause trouble," he said, feeling optimistic. "And if he does, we can ride him back down the hill as a sled. I'm sure he won't mind." Bedwyr quirked his first sincere smile. He kicked a bit of snow as Kay bent down to scoop up a handful, crunching in its bare palms. It was cold and powdery. "Snow in November," he grunted, squeezing hard, "and it's rotten powdery. Look at that." He flung it at Bedwyr, who jerked aside as it puffed over his shoulder. "That's not even a proper snowball."

"I can't even make a snowball." Bedwyr stooped and tried crushing snow in one fist. Failing, he reached into Kay's face to rub it in. Kay protested that he had two hands to freeze when Bedwyr only had one. They broke off and shook the snow from their cloaks and faces as a knife-edged wind blew between them and Cathair...and then Cathair had walked up to them and they stood a little warily, but interestedly, to hear what he had to say.

Kay, putting aside Domitia's rudeness, cut a smile across his face when Cathair finished and clapped the fellow on the shoulder. "You should go into the theatre!" he said. "You've got the drama down well. I suggest Terence."

Bedwyr said, "You didn't like Terence..."

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