Мор - ученик смерти

           Binkyslowedtoacanter.Mortlookeddownattheroofofaforest,dustedwithsnowthatwaseitherearlyorvery,verylate;itcouldhavebeeneither,becausetheRamtopshoardedtheirweatheranddoleditoutwithnorealreferencetothetimeofyear.

           Agapopenedupbeneaththem.Binkyslowedagain,wheeledaroundanddescendedtowardsaclearingthatwaswhitewithdriftedsnow.Itwascircular,withatinycottageintheexactmiddle.Ifthegroundaroundithadn’tbeencoveredinsnow,Mortwouldhavenoticedthattherewerenotreestumpstobeseen;thetreeshadn’tbeencutdowninthecircle,they’dsimplybeendiscouragedfromgrowingthere.Orhadmovedaway.

           Candlelightspilledfromonedownstairswindow,makingapaleorangepoolonthesnow.

           Binkytoucheddownsmoothlyandtrottedacrossthefreezingcrustwithoutsinking.Heleftnohoofprints,ofcourse.

           Mortdismountedandwalkedtowardsthedoor,mutteringtohimselfandmakingexperimentalsweepswiththescythe.

           Thecottageroofhadbeenbuiltwithwideeaves,toshedsnowandcoverthelogpile.NodwellerinthehighRamtopswoulddreamofstartingawinterwithoutalogpileonthreesidesofthehouse.Buttherewasn’talogpilehere,eventhoughspringwasstillalongwayoff.

           Therewas,however,abundleofhayinanetbythedoor.Ithadanoteattached,writteninbig,slightlyshakycapitals:FORTHEEHORS.