A Sledding Adventure

Winter had settled in properly now. The kind that squeaked underfoot and made the air feel sharp and bright. Bald Hill was smooth and white, just steep enough to be exciting, and Yens and Spinny had already gone down it several times on the sled, laughing and squeaking all the way.

Spinny especially liked the part where the world rushed past very fast and then suddenly stopped.

Eventually, Yens decided they’d had enough sliding for one day. The sun was already sinking lower, and the cold was beginning to sneak through mittens and scarves.

He tied the rope back to the sled, settled Spinny on top of it, and started walking home.

For a while, everything was quiet. The sled slid easily behind him, the path familiar, the forest calm.

And then, without either of them quite realizing how, Spinny was no longer there. The sled hit a small bump. Spinny tipped sideways, tried to hold on, but tumbled into the snow.

Something large and dark swept down from above.

Spinny even didn’t have time to squeak as a big bird grabbed hold of his scarf and lifted him up. The ground fell away. The hill rushed closer again as the bird veered upward.

Spinny struggled wildly. Threads tore loose from the scarf and drifted down. Then, with one final wriggle, Spinny slipped free and dropped straight into a deep snowdrift at the very top of Bald Hill.

Above him, the bird circled once, confused by the empty scarf, then thought better of it and disappeared into the gray sky.

A single feather spiraled down.

Spinny lay very still for a moment, snow piled high around him. He tried to stand. His little feet in bright red socks sank straight through the snow.

He squeaked, sharp and frightened, but the sound disappeared into the cold air. Yens was already far away. Much too far to hear.

Spinny sat there, thinking.

The scarf was gone. Only a few loose threads clung to him.

He looked around.

Broken sticks poked through the snow, snapped by wind and winter. Spinny stared at them for a long moment. Then an idea arrived - sudden and bright.

He gathered the sticks, dragging them together into a small pile. With careful paws, he tied them with the loose threads he still had, knot by uneven knot. He worked quickly, tying, tugging, squeaking under his breath, until he had something that might slide and probably wouldn’t fall apart.

Down on the path, Yens stopped. The sled behind him felt wrong. Too light.

He turned sharply. “Spinny?” he called.

No answer.

Yens ran back along the path, scanning the snow, his breath quickening. Then he saw it - a dark feather lying on the white ground.

His heart dropped.

He spun around, calling Spinny’s name, searching the slope, panic rising fast and cold.

“Spinny!”

Up on the hill, something clattered.

Yens looked up just in time to see Spinny burst over the edge of Bald Hill, racing downhill on a very questionable pile of sticks, eyes wide, threads fluttering behind him.

“SPINNY - ”

Spinny slid straight to Yens’ feet and toppled gently into the snow, perfectly unharmed and extremely pleased.

Yens dropped to his knees and pulled him close, holding him there longer than usual.

“I was so worried,” he said quietly.

Spinny squeaked, puffed up proudly, and tapped his homemade sled with one paw.

Yens looked at the sled. Then at Spinny. Then at the loose threads still tied around the sticks.

“Well,” he said after a moment, exhaling, “it looks like there’s some knitting to be done.”

Spinny squeaked - satisfied.

They walked home slowly after that, with fewer adventures planned and a great deal of tea waiting.