Snow


Real snow.  Perfect.

All-out battle has commenced.  Trip is in the middle of it, indulging his competitive streak.

I am making use of tactics.

Separate. 

The snow explodes on the side of Trip's head.

Get him away from the herd.

Run and he'll chase.

Trap him.

In among the trees.  Trip won't let me go without revenge.

Don't offer him an escape route.

Double back, confuse him.

Bring him down; bear him into the deep whiteness.

Trip's lying below me, shocked eyes wide.

Irresistible.

I am heat.

He is ice.

And when I kiss him, he remains ice.

Tactical error.