Winter’s sun, forever on the horizon, cast tired rays across the virgin snow as they ran, giggling and flushed and happy; their pace slowed and bemused confusion fell across their faces as they came to an abrupt halt.
Baffled, he kicked it and it jerked up into the air with a flurry of snow settling before them like a gigantic upturned saucer.
He moved to kick again but she raised her hand and bent to retrieve the object, shook away its frosty coating and stared at it in puzzlement before placing it with a flourish, the right way up, on her head atop her chunky, fur-fringed Eskimo hood.
She giggled, girlishly, and posed, one hand holding the now droopy monstrosity and the other pointing to her pursed lips in a coy fashion; his bewildered laugh made her frown as he shook his head and grabbed the floppy base whipping it off her head.
A moment later his hunting-knife had cut two holes big enough for his thick-gloved hands and his oily catch of the day was placed within its cone, and the sides gathered up in one hand to form a sturdy, straw basket then he leaned forward to brush his cold lips across the cheek of his other catch of the day.