I could feel the wind rush through my hair. It was crisp and sharp, but it didn’t pierce me like the chilly ice flakes of the so forth winter blizzard. I looked at my friends, Victorand Sean, and they were shaking as if naked in the city of Moscow.
“Pierre, what gives thee such warmth?” Victor asked, as his teeth chattered.
“Shall I be the one begging for warmth? Nay, for has thy right clothing and body heat as a bear from the north.”
“Yea, full of such warmth, as compared to I, cold as the water or the Artic.”
Sean stood there quietly, as he shivered. “Complaining does not help thee. It is considered a sinful act.”
I looked at Sky. Smarty pants. Just because you’re the preacher’s son, does it mean you have to preach?
I then looked at Victor, whose lips were almost ocean blue. “We should head home for tea and the warmth of the fire,” Victor said. Sean and I nodded in agreement and we walked home before the snow started to fiercely play swords with us.
.........not complete
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