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We are sliding over, trembling, swaying and creaking. I am freezing. Her fingers have gotten completely white, the eyebrows too. Wings folded together, shivering with cold. He is standing like a statue, the dark feather completely covered in hoarfrost, yet the eyes are wide and watchful. It’s because they appear only for a second, we should not even blink. An endless carpet in dark green and white.
I look at him again – the feather around his mouth has rumpled into many small icicles. One must gaze for long into the darkness between the spruce, to see a flash of their white hair or the small grey feet just for a wink. We hold our breath. We are a bit scared. And the spruce. No one and nothing is shouting one another down. We are the forest.