Chapter 1

Frodo is 45, Sam 33, and Merry 31 (about 29, 21, and 20 in Man years)
23 Solmath, 1414 SR

Frodo checked the infusion in the teapot. The scent of rosehips and honeysuckle wafted up to tickle his nose, the faint and pleasant aroma telling him it was ready. He removed the kettle from the hook over the hearth fire and located the deepest mug he owned. A gift to Bilbo from the dwarves, the earthenware mug was nearly twice the size of a Shire mug and was devoid of the painted landscapes or stenciled flowers with which hobbits so loved to decorate their pottery and dinnerware. Made of plain brown clay, lacquered to protect it from wear, the mug’s bowl was deep and wide. A hobbit could wrap two hands around it and not be able to touch his fingers. If not for the handle, Frodo doubted it would be useable as a mug at all and would rather be employed as a soup bowl instead.

Pausing only briefly to remember when Bilbo first received the mug – by post the day after his hundredth birthday, an offense of which Bilbo instantly forgave his friends being as they lived so far away and were not hobbits – Frodo filled it to just below the brim with the steaming tea and dutifully added two spoons of honey. He stirred carefully, so as not to spill a single drop, and deftly placed the mug on the tray. Into a bowl he ladled hot porridge, flavored with buttermilk and honey in just the right proportions. This too went on the tray, between the mug of tea and a small bread box that contained within it two slices of warm toast, slathered in melted butter and topped with brambleberry jam. A silver spoon rolled into a napkin of soft linen was the final addition to the tray.

“Merry!” he called, sliding the tray off the counter and holding it out when his cousin appeared. “Take this out to Sam for me, will you? If it’s too cold, ask him to come inside.”

“All right.” Merry accepted the tray, unable to avoid jostling the tea in the transition between hands. Three fat drops of the precious hot brew slid down the sides of the mug. He looked longingly at the porridge.

“Don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from,” Frodo assured, reading his cousin’s thoughts with little trouble. “I’ve set the table in the breakfast nook for a change. I thought we could sit and look out at the snow before it melts.” Snow had been sparse this winter, which had been mild all around. The weather had brought mostly rain with only the occasional flurry, which never lasted long. The land had not been this white since the week before Yule.

Merry took the tray outside, walking slowly and carefully, yet despite his best efforts, more of the tea spilled over the edges of the mug by the time he was able to open the back door. He noticed immediately that Sam had cleared the walk path through the kitchen garden to the well. He baby-stepped down the path, ever mindful of his load, and stopped at the well to rest the tray on its ledge while he searched the gardens for any sign of Sam. Lacking that, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Sam!”

“Up here, Mr. Merry!” Sam appeared on the roof of the smial and waved down at the young master. “I’ll be right down.”

“No need,” Merry said as he carefully slid the tray off the well and began to baby-step toward the back of the smial.

“I’ll be right down,” Sam repeated and disappeared again.

By the time Merry rounded the smial to the back garden, where the path began to curve up to the crest of the Hill, Sam had dusted the reading bench of snow and dried the stone seat, laying over the seat an old frayed blanket from the shed that he used for kneeling in the gardens; the stone was too cold to sit on it directly. Merry rested the tray on one end of the bench, grateful to see that no more of the tea had spilled to puddle around the base of the mug. He stepped back to inspect the snow-covered garden as Sam made himself comfortable on the bench.

As he stood there, the wind picked up, sweeping through this section of the garden with biting cold intensity, sending chills down Merry’s spine. He wrapped his arms around himself, wishing he had remembered to don his jacket before leaving the warmth of the smial behind. He hunched over in an attempt to retain some of his body heat.

“Aren’t you cold out here, Sam?” Merry asked tightly, his jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering as the cold seeped closer to his bones.

Sam shook his head. He was wearing his old wool jacket that had seen him and his older brothers through many countless winters. “Can’t say as I am, Mr. Merry. What about you, sir? You’re chilled clear through. Here,” he said and lifted his mug for Merry to take, but Merry declined.

“That’s for you,” he insisted. “I have my own waiting inside.”

“You best get in there then,” Sam intoned.

“I think I will,” Merry said, though he had hoped to stay out and speak with Sam for a while. When he returned later to retrieve the tray, he would have to remember his jacket. He was eager to find out just what sort of work Sam had managed to find for himself on a day such as this.

He left Sam to his meal, calling over his shoulder as he jotted back to the front of the smial, “Just leave the tray there. I’ll get it later and then we can talk for a spell.”

“Very well, Mr. Merry,” Sam returned, bringing the mug to his lips and drinking deep. While it was true enough that his work was keeping him warm, the steaming tea went down nicely and filled him with a glowing heat that soaked clear through him.

“Come inside if you get too cold!” Merry remembered at the last moment before ducking into the warmth of the smial. The door swung closed before he could hear if Sam replied.

He shuddered loudly at the cold and dipped his feet in the bucket of lukewarm water that was kept by the door. While the water wasn’t hot, it felt blissful against the chill and it melted any snow that had worked its way into his foot hair. He wiped his feet dry with a towel from the pile kept near the bucket and tossed the towel in the laundry basket tucked into the shadow of the corner. Once he was satisfied with his feet, he left the foyer and stepped into the tunnel. By the time he reached the breakfast nook off the kitchen, he was beginning to warm up once more.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow at Merry’s flushed cheeks and red-tipped nose, before his brow crinkled with concern. “How cold is it out there?” he asked.

“Cold,” was all Merry could manage. He instantly wrapped his hands around his teacup before sliding into his seat.

The seats of the breakfast nook consisted of a wrap-around bench that lined the wall beneath the windows, and two wooden chairs that were supposed to sit along the outer edge of the table. However, the chairs were commonly used for extra sitting around the kitchen table and spent most of the year there. Frodo had brought the chairs back on the chance that Merry would want to sit facing the window, the better to enjoy the sight of the snow. Instead, Merry hooked a foot around the nearest leg of his chair and pulled it closer to the table, then propped up his feet to rest on the seat. Frodo sat in the other chair and enjoyed a swig of his tea, while Merry continued to sit with his hands secured around his teacup.

“Is Sam coming in then?” Frodo asked, his earlier delight in the snow now turned to concern for his friend. If Merry was this frozen after mere minutes spent outside, what must Sam look like by now? “He could catch his death if he isn’t careful.”

“Sam? Not careful? We are talking about the same hobbit, aren’t we?” Merry said, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. He grinned fully when he saw Frodo relax, a small smile forming on the older hobbit’s lips.

“I suppose you’re right,” Frodo conceded. “Still, you know how Sam can be at times.”

Merry nodded, though in truth he could not say that he did know. He and Sam had not been on friendly terms until just recently. Much of their childhood was spent at an estranged distance due in large part to a prank of Merry’s that had gone horribly awry, and up until last summer, they had hardly spoken to each other except when necessary. Merry had thought that sweet-talking Frodo into letting him and Pippin barge in on his annual Midsummer walking trip would be the hardest thing he’d have to do that visit. He soon found that convincing the gardener to give him another chance to prove himself a worthy friend had been akin to slaying a dragon. His endeavors would have been completely without hope if not for Frodo’s patient and insightful guidance.

Sam and Merry got along well in most instances now but there were times when Merry felt himself to still be on probation. Whether he was being paranoid, or if Sam really was still keeping him at a distance, be it by habit or design, Merry could not tell. They had not yet reached the level of friendship that he shared with Pippin and Frodo, and so they had no language of their own, no shared experiences of any worth that they could bring forth now to help steer them, nothing to teach them how to interact with each other as anything other than gentlehobbit and gardener. That was only one of their obstacles.

They were of different worlds socially, but they were also of differing personalities and temperaments. All of that collected together meant that they approached life from different angles. Sometimes those angles managed to just slip by each other, causing no disharmony whatsoever. Sometimes they collided against each other and they had to find a way to negotiate the impact so as to prevent themselves from ricocheting off into oblivion. The result was that they were feeling their way through as they went, sometimes running along at a steady pace, sometimes stumbling, and every stumble set them back.

It was a slow process, and while Merry was often tempted to turn to Frodo for help, he knew he could not always rely on his cousin to intercede. He might wish that things were progressing more swiftly, but he was pleased with the progress that he and Sam had made so far. When he began to feel intolerant of the snail’s pace with which they were progressing, he stepped back, took a deep breath and remembered the single most important piece of advice Frodo had given him that hot and muggy summer’s day: be patient. It was difficult, for he was used to things coming to him easily, but a true friendship was being forged now, and that was too important to rush. Merry was beginning to learn just how Sam could be, as Frodo put it. Likewise, Sam was beginning to learn how to read Merry, and whatever miscommunications they had only helped them to move closer to their goal. He knew he could not expect more and he was grateful for what he had.

“What is he doing out there anyway?” Frodo continued, interrupting Merry’s thoughts.

Merry shrugged. “I didn’t have time to ask. If I stayed out there another second, I would have frozen clear through.”

“Is it really as cold as all that?” Frodo asked, his alarm renewed. “Are you certain Sam wasn’t just saying that he wasn’t cold?”

“He said he was fine,” Merry said with a shrug. Frodo didn’t look convinced and instead returned to regarding the snow outside with trepidation. He cast his eyes skyward, for the first time noticing the thin grey clouds that hung low over the earth and the wind that abused the treetops across the lane. “He’s fine, Frodo. Really. He was perfectly cozy inside his jacket.” Frodo still didn’t look convinced and by the tension in his arm and hand that rested along the outer edge of the table, Merry knew he was getting ready to rise. “He said he was warm and he should know,” Merry pointed out. “After all, he is Sam. He knows everything.”

Frodo laughed now and relaxed enough to have a spoon of porridge. “Well, I wouldn’t say he knows everything there is to know; I don’t think even Gandalf knows that much. But he can take care of himself right enough. Still, I think after eating and washing the dishes, we should go out and see if he needs any help. The faster he gets finished with whatever he’s doing, the faster he can get indoors.”

Merry nodded and bent down to eat.  

Sam finished his porridge and washed the mush down with the last of the tea. He picked up the tray and began to stand with the intention of returning the tray to the kitchen. Then he remembered that Merry had said he’d retrieve it. The last time Sam had done something after Merry said he would handle it – tidying up after Frodo’s birthday if he recalled correctly – Merry got very put out by it and had thought that Sam had only done the job because of his servant standing. Never mind that Sam was not technically a servant, a fact of which he knew his master reminded Merry and Pippin constantly. Still, his station was lower that their own, and he supposed that to them, that was all that mattered.

Sam sighed and left the tray on the bench. Sometimes he felt as though Merry spent so much time trying to look past the class difference that he could see nothing else by default. The very fact that it was something Merry had to make himself look beyond was testament to how much it occupied his mind. He just could not seem to accept that Sam enjoyed doing for Frodo and would never consider it work. After all, he did such things at home all the time and Bag End was to him every bit as home as Number Three was.

Leaving the bench behind, Sam treaded the path back to the turf roof, where his work was progressing nicely. He had been surprised by the biting cold weather when he stepped outside his hole that morning, just as everyone else in Hobbiton and Bywater had been. The snow storm had come at night, falling silently, as only snow can do, covering every surface within the surrounding twenty miles. Like everyone else, he at first assumed that it would melt by noon, leaving only patches here and there to turn into small puddles or little pools by evening, which would then freeze at night, blending into the soil or grass so perfectly that the slippery surfaces could not be seen even by the most keen-eyed hobbit. Yet here it was mid-morning, and the snow still stood. Looking at the sky and feeling the wind, Sam suspected this snow would last another day or two, with another storm tonight more than likely. The Gaffer’s protesting joints agreed.

After seeing his father as settled and comfortable as his arthritis would allow, Sam trotted up the Hill. With the weather being mildly warm up until now, Sam had not had much work to do in the garden beyond plucking the winter berries and moving the pinwheels about the garden to keep rodents and other small animals from getting too brave. He had planned to fluff and rake the mulch in all the beds today, but with the snow now covering the ground, that would have to wait. The unexpected flurry brought other chores, and he was now going through the garden checking for damage and knocking snow off the boughs of the slimmer bushes and trees.

He reached the roof and went back to tending the plants. The oak he was not worried about, but the floral bushes here needed binding. They were new plants, just put into the ground last spring, and were not yet strong enough to withstand the weight on the snow on their own for long. He walked around the bushes one by one, dusting the bare branches of snow and winding rope gently around the outermost branches. He pulled the rope just tight enough to offer the extra support needed, careful not to cut into the bark, and tied the rope with a slipknot.

He finished this task and set the coil aside in his tool kit. He was looking up at the tree, inspecting it for possible signs of damage, when he heard his master calling him. Sam leaned around the bole as his master and Merry gained the roof, Frodo carrying another steaming cup of tea. Sam was relieved to see that both hobbits were wearing their jackets.

Sam stepped around the tree to greet his master and took the proffered tea with gratitude. Still, he could not help a small jest. “Thank you, Mr. Frodo,” he said, “but I’ll not freeze out here if I don’t get tea every hour.”

Frodo laughed. “Perhaps not, but it eases my mind knowing you have something warm inside of you,” he said.

Next to him, Merry stood studying the bushes, leaning over to inspect the rope binding. “So this is what you’re doing,” he intoned. “Do you have to do this to the entire garden? This is going to take you forever Sam. Why don’t I help you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to be doing such Mr. Merry,” Sam replied automatically.

“I want to help,” Merry insisted, almost fervently.

Sam did not respond, thrown off at first by Merry’s fierce insistence. Instead, he drank his tea as he tried to decide if Merry was being sincere or if he was only offering to help because he was trying to prove his friendship again.

Merry seemed to understand he had done something wrong, for he breathed deeply, letting it out slowly through his nostrils, similar to a mare being tried for patience by her young. This only made Sam less reluctant to answer. It was at times like this when Merry could be particularly difficult to figure and Sam never knew how to respond in such a way as to put him back on his ease.

A discreet glance from Frodo told Merry to back off and try a different approach. Merry let his irritation go and tried again. “It will help with my herb garden if I could learn these things,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he knelt down to closer examine what Sam was doing. “Is there a specific type of rope you use?”

Sam eased instantly. “Not really, just so long as it’s thick enough not to cut into the branches,” he answered. “The trick is the binding itself. Sometimes, you got to bind the inner branches too, if the outer ones are already bending. Then you got to string them up different and use a different sort of knot. This here is a slipknot.” He finished the tea in two large gulps and handed the cup back to Frodo, who smiled fondly at them both. Sam blushed and smiled back.

Frodo held up the cup. “Let me take this back to the kitchen and then I’ll be back to help also.”

“You don’t need to do that sir,” Sam responded, in much the same manner he had to Merry just moments before. Merry watched carefully to see how Frodo would respond.

“I’ll be right back,” Frodo repeated, still smiling fondly, and disappeared down the trail.

‘So that was the trick. Don’t be emphatic. Stay casual.’ Merry took note and stored the information away for later use. He returned his attention to Sam and asked, “So, is this all you have to do?”

Sam explained what he was doing and why. He pointed to the garden below and indicated what he had accomplished thus far. Not all of the bushes had been bound; Sam explained that not all plants needed the extra protection. The older and thicker ones were sturdier and better equipped to withstand the weather on their own.

“Yet some plants are winter plants,” Merry said. “They thrive in the cold. Do they need twining too?”

“Some of them do,” Sam said with a shrug. “With the winter berries, you mostly got to worry about birds getting to the berries. Sometimes, if the berries freeze too much, they turn bitter and they’re not good for the birds to eat. You got to pluck the bushes bare. Rodents and such come round also, trying to find food. They can damage the branches or the trunks as they’re skittering about, or the branches can be damaged in other ways: rubbing against each other in the wind, the boughs falling off and leaving open wounds. Then you got to cover them up. I got to do such with the elm down in the back garden.”

“How do you remember all this?” Merry asked, marveling at the extent of Sam’s knowledge. “It’s all such a mystery to me.”

Sam just shrugged again. “It’s my job. You can’t always understand their ways, the plants and such, but so long as you know what they need and when, that’s all that matters. And there’s not much mystery to it when your Gaffer’s been drilling it into your head since you could walk.”

“No, I suppose there isn’t at that,” Merry agreed, continuing to study the gardens below.

One large patch of cleared earth near the slope leading to the lower garden glistened with freezing dew, all that was left of the white fluffy snow that had once been stacked a foot deep. Sam had cleared that area because the snow there was too soft and anyone stepping onto what they thought was packed snow would be in for a rude awakening when they found themselves thigh-deep in a freezing snow bank.

Sam had accomplished much for one hobbit that morning, but he still had the majority of the garden to go. There were still the front garden and the vast lower garden left to tend, plus the elm tree. Even with all of them working together, he knew it would take a good portion of the day to finish.

Merry nodded. “We best get started then,” he said as Frodo returned.

Sam acknowledged his master’s return with a nod, then bent down to gather his things. “I’m finished up here. Sorry, sir, but you took off before I could say so. I’ve been showing Mr. Merry what needs doing, elsewise I’d of met you down in the back garden.”

“That’s all right, Sam. A good climb never hurt a body,” Frodo said, stepping off the path to let Sam pass. Sam might trail behind Frodo when they went to market or into Bywater, but in the garden, Sam led the way. “Just tell us where you need us.”

Sam led them down the path to the elm tree that sat at the base of the hill, then walked around the base of the tree, peering up into the boughs looking for the spot where a branch had splintered off during the night. He hoped it was not too far up, not being keen on climbing, and he breathed with relief when he found the wounded bough just a couple of inches from the bole in the lower branches. He sent Merry to get the ladder from the shed while he squinted up at the wounded bough. By the looks of the fallen branch, the wound was not going to be clean enough to merit trying to save it but he wanted to take a closer look just to be sure.

Merry returned with the ladder and Sam leaned it against the bole just under the injured bough, then retrieved from his tool kit a square of burlap and a length of rope.

“I’ll go up if you’d rather not, Sam,” Frodo offered, knowing Sam’s fear of heights. “Just tell me what needs to be done.”

“That won’t be necessary sir,” Sam said, though he was sorely tempted to accept the offer. It was enough that Frodo had offered.

He handed the burlap and rope to Frodo, then climbed up only as far as he needed in order to reach the branch and do his work safely. Reaching up, he ran his thumb over the wound, feeling the various rough edges and deep grooves the bough had left behind. Shaking his head sadly, he reached down for the items he needed. He wrapped the burlap tight around the branch twice and secured it in place with the rope. He climbed back down and nodded up at the bough.

“That should hold it till the Thaw,” he said.

“Then what will you do?” Merry asked.

“Cut it off. If it had been a clean break, I could have tried to take some of the bark off the branch and fit it into the hole and wrap that up tight,” Sam said. At Frodo’s questioning look, he explained further. “It’s like a cut on your skin. It doesn’t always work but sometimes the new bark will mend together with the old bark and fix the wound. If it doesn’t work, then you’ll have to take the branch off anyhow, elsewise it could get infected with all sorts of fungus or insects.”

Sam carried the ladder back to the shed and put it away, then retrieved extra gloves for his helpers. Even Sam had donned the bothersome coverings to protect his hands from constant contact with the snow and he insisted that his master and Merry put theirs on before they did anything else. When that was done, Frodo and Merry followed him around the smial to the front garden. Once there, he pointed out the plants that needed the snow knocked off them.

“Tap the snow off gently, hitting sideways on the trunks and upwards on the branches, not down,” he instructed, and commenced to follow behind them, binding the branches.

When they finished with that, Sam showed them how to bind the branches, making sure they could tie a slip knot and watching them for the first few bushes to make sure they were going about everything the right way, giving them instruction when necessary. Merry understood well enough from what he had seen on the roof and Frodo caught on quickly, having helped Sam in the gardens before. Soon they were all bent to their tasks, and Sam kept a discreet eye on both his helpers, studying them for signs of weariness as the day wore on.

They worked all afternoon, moving to the lower gardens as the sun passed high noon, shining wanly through steely grey clouds. The wind had calmed and was now a mild breeze, but it still carried a harsh bite of frost. They stopped only for a late luncheon and an early tea that Frodo threw together from leftovers in the larder. Frodo then started dinner cooking and banked up the fires in the hearths to keep the smial warm and cozy, then rejoined his friends in the lower garden.

The front garden had taken longer than expected and Sam was beginning to work faster, leaving Merry and Frodo on their own to do what they could. They kept up as best they could, and even though Sam never indicated that they were expected to keep pace with him, they were keen to do just that. Neither of them had the efficient ease or well-trained movements that Sam possessed, but they managed well enough and did their best not to hamper the gardener with their less-skilled hands. Even with their extra efforts, Sam was now saying they’d be lucky to finish before dusk and Frodo wondered how the gardener had ever hoped to complete the work on his own.

The sun was waning behind the gloomy clouds and was approaching its setting hour when they all stood up from their work and stretched their backs, Frodo’s giving a loud pop as abused joints sighed with relief. Sam gave him a sharp look but held his tongue. Instead, he scrutinized the gardens and recalled in his mind the work they had done, going through his mental list from that morning of what he had hoped to accomplish that day. He nodded with satisfaction when he reached the end of the list and everything was checked off.

“Are we finished, Sam?” Frodo asked.

Sam nodded. “That we are, sir. Thank you for helping me today, sirs.”

“It’s my garden too,” Frodo said with a smile and a wink. They both thought of the garden as being more Sam’s than Frodo’s, but that didn’t stop the blush from coming into Sam’s cheeks. “Since we’re finished, I’ll go see to dinner. You’ll be joining us, Sam?”

Sam declined. “Gaffer was right sore this morning, what with the sudden turn in the weather and all. I’d not be surprised if he took up most of Goldie’s time, not meaning to of course. It’ll be my job to make dinner for them and I’m sure there’s firewood as needs chopping. We let the wood boxes get low, thinking as we’d have time to chop some more today.”

“You’ve worked enough Sam,” Frodo said. “Grab a wood basket and take some of my firewood down to your hole, and since I’ve already made enough food for all of us, it won’t go amiss for you take some of the food home as well.”

“Thank you sir. That’s right kind of you.” Merry and Frodo looked at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to step forward and lead them back to the upper gardens. Sam shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “I’ll just finish up here and then I’ll gather up what wood we need for the night. I’ll come up to the back door afore I go,” he said.

Now it was Frodo’s turn to look at his friend sharply, but he too remained silent. Whatever it was Sam still needed to do, he obviously did not want any help with it. Frodo suspected that with their increased hurry, not to mention their decreased alertness as exhaustion from their toil began to set in, that he and Merry had not completed some of the last few bushes to Sam’s approval. Frodo spared his friend another knowing wink, then turned and placed a guiding hand on the back of Merry’s shoulder, but Merry did not move.

“Do you want me to take anything up to the shed for you? I’ll gather up the wood as well and leave it by the back door for you,” Merry offered. “It’ll save you a trip.”

“You can take the tool kit. I won’t be needing it,” Sam said, pointing to the wooden box that he used for carrying his tools and supplies, depending on what he was doing in the garden. “Just set it on the work bench. I’ll put everything back where they belong tomorrow. Thank you sir.”

“You’re quite welcome, Sam,” Merry said and stooped down to grab the tool kit. He turned and followed Frodo up the stepping stones to the upper gardens as small white flurries began to fall from the sky.

Merry and Frodo parted when they reached the path to the kitchen garden and the back door. Frodo relinquished his gloves to Merry, who continued the short distance to the shed. He reached the old, weather-worn shack and quickly poked inside to set the tool kit on the workbench as instructed. He then rounded the shed to its eastern side, where the firewood was piled under a lean-to off the shed roof. He located the wood basket and quickly filled it with enough wood to keep Number Three supplied in fuel for the night and carried it to the smial, leaving it just inside the foyer.

Sam quickly walked through the lower gardens, rechecking the binding on all the plants, checking for weather damage on the stems and branches as he went. Satisfied with what he saw, he looked up at the sky, letting the snowflakes brush against his cheeks, enjoying the soft cool touch of the flakes that melted upon hitting his face. He smelled deep the scent of fresh, crisp snow, which oddly reminded him of paddling in the Bywater Pool on a cold spring evening after a long day’s work. The peace he so often felt within himself swelled now with joy and he wore the simple smile of happy memories as he strolled up the snow-covered steps.

At the top of the steps, he turned off the path, intending to cut across the lawn rather than follow the path on its triangular course to the back door. As much as he loved the snow, he wanted to retrieve his master’s generous gift as quickly as he could, all the sooner to return to his own home. No doubt the Gaffer would have a thing or two to say about the Master of Bag End making them dinner, but Sam was less worried about the old hobbit’s disapproval and more about the storm about to erupt full force from above.

Sam crunched across the lawn. Since he had shoveled it in the morning, the snow was not built up here and he had little trouble crossing the grass until he stepped on a patch of ice. Before he knew what was happening, his feet slipped out from under him with a loud popping sound that filled the air, and a moment later he was landing hard on his back.

To be continued…

GF 8/5/06