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Birger’s eyes lit up as he heard the barking draw near. ‘White Paw!’ he called, dropping down to one knee in the snow. The dog put his front paws on the boy’s shoulders, nearly knocking Birger over as he licked the boy’s face. Birger stood, scooping up a large handful of snow as he did so. He made it into a hard snowball and threw it far in the direction he and Mara were moving. With a wolfish grin, White Paw chased after it.
‘My dog, Mara m’am,’ he explained brushing his hands off on his thighs. He thought she had looked a little concerned as the wolfish looking dog had bounded toward him. ‘Well, the Green Man’s dog, really. But I take care of him.’ He shaded his eyes, looking after dog who was now trotting back, snowball held delicately in his maw. ‘He’s my friend,’ he said, glancing up at her, to see how she would take this small confidence on his part.
They had come almost to the small stand of yew that stood all bare and twisty in a small fold of the long extending foothills. Birger hauled two a canvas slings from the back of the hand cart, handing one to Mara. ‘Looks like the wind and age has downed some branches. Let’s collect them in our slings first, then see if there’s any more need to be cut.’ He took stock of the trees, chewing on his bottom lip as he watched the breezes blow the snow on them about their crowns. They looked like those old ladies with the swirling white hair Goody sometimes talked about; the ones that danced beneath the moon to turn the seasons right.
White Paw had come to stand beside him, leaning just a little against his leg. ‘Think we’ll just pick up the blowed down branches today,’ he half whispered to the dog. ‘Wouldn’t be right to take axe or saw to such today, I’m thinking.’
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