Leaving the cosy confines of the sitting room and the raging open hearth fire, the heat of which has embraced his very soul, he make’s his way slowly to the door, the last line of protection between him and the hostile winter cold that awaits outside. Bitter; fierce and unfriendly, but he pushes the handle down, opens wide and thrusts himself out into the freezing cold onslaught.
Immediately he becomes intimately acquainted with a bullet of a snowball, playfully aimed with missile like accuracy and leaving a ferocious imprint upon his face, now reeling from the icy impact, his cheeks stinging from the blow. he looses his balance, momentarily falling backwards, his right hand instinctively reaching out to the side to prevent an embarrassing fall to the ground. His gloveless hand however does not comply, lifting itself up into the air, wincing with the cold and ultimately landing hard on his posterior, inspite of his best efforts to save himself
Despite the overwhelming urge, he resist’s the temptation to wallow in any sort of self-pitying introspection and promptly pushes himself back up onto his feet. He look’s around to see where the object of his temporary humiliation came from, scanning with squinted eyes (due to the blinding winter sun) the densely forested ‘Narnia’ enclave. For a few moments, his stationary search seems to be in vain, and the lure of the still burning fire inside became increasingly appealing to his shivering skin; now screaming out for some much needed warmth, until he spot’s that familiar; sweeping smile, peering out from behind the snow-covered bushes.
Mischievous; beguiling and irresistible, he suddenly forgets what season he’s in and propel’s himself out into the snow, thick carpets of it crunching underneath his feet as he run towards her, gathering the magical white substance into my numbed hands as he goes; condensing it and shaping it into the seasonal ball-shaped weapon of un that it is. Giggling and laughing, she turns one way; then another, desperately trying to evade his grasp, yet secretly longing to be caught and lost in his embrace as he has been many times in hers. He almost manages to get a hold of her wavy brown hair as it catches in the wind.
Then a shot rings out!
He freezes in his tracks, but the winter has nothing to do with it. She has stopped too, dead and lying on the ground, the full; vibrant color of her face squeezed completely out of her. Another color, red, is now seeping out from underneath her jacket and staining this thick carpet of snow.