Slipstar had been worried: the forecast had said there would be no snow come Hearth’s Warming Eve. The drive to Cecil Andrews’ handsome manor was, however, well endowed – white like a swan’s feathers. His hooves touched the cold ground with a merry crunch as he exited his vehicle and thanked his chauffeur. His suitcase he dragged behind him, its wheels having sunk in the fall and vanished from sight. Delicate flakes floated down and latched themselves onto his mane. He smiled and, looking up, waved.
‘Glad to see you made it, old chap!’ called Cecil, waving back, from further along the path. ‘Let’s get you inside for a drink and a natter!’
The snow-covered evergreens were beautiful. Slipstar sighed contentedly and allowed himself to be escorted up the steps and through the door.
‘Who’s here?’ asked Slipstar as Cecil poured the tea.
‘Small turnout, truth be told,’ replied Cecil, grimacing. ‘Crimson Quill we’re waiting on. Maisie’s not been back in a couple of years. A shame. I thought I had something there. Anyway.’
‘So, you mean to settle down?’
‘Well. I don’t know,’ Cecil managed – and, though his friend was smiling, Slipstar detected sadness. ‘It’s something of... Well, let’s not talk about that now, eh?’
Slipstar patted him gently. ‘Chin up,’ he said and changed the subject. ‘I see your crackers are back.’
‘What? Oh! Yes. Yes, I remembered you liked them.’ Cecil grinned. ‘Fancy a riddle?’
‘Go on,’ prompted Slipstar, wondering idly whether it was time for him to settle down as well.
They pulled a cracker and laughed as Cecil placed around his ears its purple paper crown and then read aloud its riddle.
‘What two things can you never eat for breakfast?’ He scratched his head and looked to Slipstar for help, who chuckled.
‘Short and sweet,’ commented the latter, smiling.
Do you know?
Lunch and dinner, of course! (Merry Christmas.)