Rochelle L. Sharpe

Chapter Nine: The Clichéd Snow Day.

I expect to have to go to church on Sunday morning, but Hallowed Service, as they call it here, is only held at night, so we have the whole day to do what we want. After breakfast, Ashlyn asks me what I’d like to do. For me, the decision is easy.

I grin at her. “All the clichéd snow fun-filled things that you can think of.”

She returns my grin. “I think we can arrange that.”

Olen jumps up from the table, beaming. “I’ll fetch the sled.” He races out of the cottage, Flint on his heels.

After we have our snow jackets on, which we can wear since no one will see us, Lyndaria provides us with woollen caps, scarfs and mitts.

Snow has fallen overnight, so it is fresh. The sun is out, making it a perfect day for spending in the snow.

We meet Olen at the bottom of the hill, not far from the cottage. Poplyn follows us, throwing mischievous little grins my way. I don’t know what the little elf is planning, but I won’t let him ruin my fun.

Olen runs towards us, sled in tow, Flint sitting in the middle of it like he is some sort of king.

Ashlyn grabs my hand and we run up the hill. Poplyn beats everyone there, appearing at the top in a blink. When Olen has the sled in position, he allows me to go first.

“Want to come with me?” I ask Ashlyn, liking the thought of having her pressed up against me on the sled.

She laughs. “You need to have a turn on your own first.”

I sit on the sled and take the rope. Ashlyn gives me a push. I let out a whoop as I race down the hill. It reminds me of when I was a kid and we used to slide down the grassy hill near our house on cardboard. The sled comes to a stop when the hill flattens out.

I run the sled back up to the others. It’s definitely more fun going down then it is climbing back up.

Ashlyn lets Olen go next, telling Poplyn to go with him. Poplyn stands behind Olen and they slide down together. Flint stays by my side, barking and running in circles.

I want to go with Ashlyn when it is her turn, but there isn’t enough room on the sled, so she goes by herself.

I race down to meet her and pull the sled up the hill for her.

“I am capable of doing that myself you know.”

I smile at her over my shoulder. “I know.”

She shakes her head at me, smiling.

Excitement pulses through me in anticipation of my next turn. I haven’t had fun like this since I was a kid.

When I reach the bottom of the hill, I stand and get a snowball in the face.

I hear a little snigger and am hit with another.

“Snowball fight!” Olen yells from the top of the hill.

I turn to see him racing down, Flint at his heels.

A snowball slams into my back.

“Oh, it is on!” I scoop up some snow, forming a ball and throw it at Poplyn. He easily dodges it. He pommels me with snowball after snowball. Lyndaria is right, he is fast.

Olen joins him in throwing them at me.

“Play fair, Poplyn!” Ashlyn yells as she races down the hill.

Poplyn slows down and I finally land one on his head. Olen starts throwing them at Poplyn too. I aim one for Olen and Flint jumps up and intercepts it, letting it hit his side.

Olen laughs. “It’s okay, Flint. He’s not hurting me, we’re having fun.”

Flint whines like he disagrees.

Ashlyn reaches us. She throws a snowball at Poplyn, hitting him in the back of the head. He doesn’t throw any back at her.

Ashlyn spins and throws one at me, hitting me in the shoulder. I throw one back and she squeals, dodging out of the way.

When everyone gets tired, except for Poplyn—that elf has boundless energy, we call it a truce.

“We should build a snowman,” Olen suggests.

“Definitely!” I agree.   

Olen finds a flat spot that is shaded and starts rolling the snow. I get on my knees and join him, as does Ashlyn. Flint stays close, tongue lolling, while Poplyn climbs a tree, sitting in the branches and watching us work.

“Roll it in different directions to make sure its round,” Olen instructs.

Once the ball is big enough, Olen puts it in our chosen spot and packs some extra snow around the base.

After we roll a second ball, slightly smaller than the first, Olen and I lift it onto the first ball. Olen centres it to make sure the snowman is standing nice and straight.

“You’re good at this,” I tell him.

He shrugs but he smiles a pleased smile.

After we make the head, he places it on the body, packing some extra snow around each section. “To make it more sturdy,” he tells me.

Ashlyn comes over, carrying stones in cupped hands. “Now to decorate.”

She places two blue stones for the eyes, then forms a smile with a row of small red pebbles.

“A carrot for the nose?” I ask, as that’s what I’ve seen in movies.

“No carrot,” Ashlyn says, placing a black pebble on the snowman’s face instead.

Flint drops a stick at Olen’s feet, and he places it in one side of the snowman. The dog runs off and returns with another stick. Olen uses it for the other arm.

Ashlyn places her scarf around the snowman’s neck, so I put my cap on its head.

“Looks good to me,” I tell them.

“Pieman!” Poplyn exclaims, jumping to his feet on the branch.

“Must be time for lunch,” Ashlyn says. “But first.”

She throws herself backwards into the snow, moving her arms up and down, and her legs in and out.

“Come on!” she urges.

I throw myself beside her, mirroring her actions.

She laughs, and I join her. It feels so good to laugh with her, to be experiencing all these things for the first time with her.  

I copy the way she gets up, to not ruin the impression I just made.  

“Congratulations,” she says. “You just made your first snow angel.”

“They look good together,” I say.

She bumps my arm with her shoulder, shaking her head and smiling. “C’mon, before Poplyn has a conniption.”

I offer Ashlyn my arm and she slips hers through mine. We make our way to the cottage. Poplyn stays behind Ashlyn, dancing from foot to foot as he follows us.

At least his sense of duty is greater than his love for pies. Even if it is only just.  

(Stay tuned for Chapter Ten!)

© Rochelle L. Sharpe, 2025.