Page 123 of The Sun He Buried

People run between the workshops and the hall with their heads down. Two workers drag a heavy cloth over a wagon in the market clearing. Somebody shouts from the watch platform. Another horn answers from deeper in the trees.

“Snowpetal!”

A white shape bursts out of the nearest drift.

There she is.

Snowpetal leaps straight up, catches a mouthful of falling snow, and lands on her back. All four paws kick at the air. Her club-tail strikes the ground and throws more snow over her belly.

She’s purring.

“Inside,” I tell her.

She rolls over and runs at another drift.

“She can survive this better than we can.” Asta pulls me toward the hall.

“She’s a baby.”

“She’s a Sanguir.”

“Both.”

My left boot slides. Asta catches my arm, keeps pulling, and gets us to the steps without either of us falling.

This is mostly her achievement.

The hall doors stand open while guards carry in crates from the yard. Firelight reaches the top step. Warmth doesn’t.

I dig one seed cake out of the bag.

Half of it has become paste.

“Snowpetal! I have cake.”

Her white head appears above a bank near the path.

Both ears lift.

Good.

I hold up the cake. “Come get it.”

She charges toward me.

“See?”

Snowpetal reaches the steps, snatches the cake from my fingers, and turns around.

“Excuse me.”

She runs back into the snow.

Asta puts both hands over her face.

I take another cake from the bag.

It folds over my fingers.