It was mid-afternoon of the same day. The snow still fell from the grey sky in thick, fluffy flakes. It gleamed blindingly upon the ground and glistened upon the heavily laden branches of the fir trees. 

The tall, golden-haired elf walked gracefully upon the surface of the snow. The short, sandy-haired human trudged stolidly along beside him, sinking up to her thighs with each step.

"Could you please slow down?" Haleth finally puffed, "I've got a bit more work to do than you."

"Certainly," replied Inglor. He stopped, adjusted his pack, studied the sky, then walked for twenty seconds and caught up to Haleth, who had been struggling for two minutes to break trail.

"I wish it would stop snowing," she snarled through gritted teeth.

"I could carry you," Inglor suggested.

Haleth froze in mid-trudge. She lost her balance and almost fell face first into the snow.

"No," she said firmly without meeting his eyes. "I'd rather walk."

"Very well," Inglor said. "But I think you're being needlessly stubborn."

He waited for several minutes, watching his companion slog through a particularly deep snow-drift. Haleth had completely disappeared into the snow except for an occasional glimpse of a flailing hand.

Inglor counted to one hundred. Then he leisurely walked over the same drift and looked down at her as she emerged, brushing snow from her eyebrows, on the other side.

"We could be away from the snow much faster if you would simply allow me to carry you." he said reasonably.

"No," Haleth ground her teeth. She forced her way up the next hill, Inglor following slightly behind, completely perplexed by her refusal.

"I won't drop you," he finally said as they reached the crest of the hill.

Haleth looked over the new territory. Dark evergreen trees dotted the southern slopes, their boughs bent low with the weight of the new fallen snow. It looked depressingly like where they had just been.

Suddenly a new figure appeared at the top of a neighbouring hill. Haleth peered at it and began to thrash in its direction.

"Where are you going?" Inglor asked. "South is that way."

"I'll be back in a little while," Haleth called. "I want to talk to that Lossoth."

"Do you want me to accompany you?" he asked.

"No. I can handle this myself," she shouted over her shoulder.

"Shall I make camp?"

"Definitely not. I want out of this weather. Just keep walking and I'll catch up."

The elf watched her windmilling arms for several minutes, then shrugged and continued south. At least she would be easy to track.

Inglor was still moving slowly southwards half an hour later. To pass the time, which seemed oddly empty without Haleth's muffled curses, he considered the senses.

In the brief time that he had been among them, Inglor had noticed that humans too often relied upon sight rather than a combination of their senses and that trait often landed them in trouble.

To follow an example of his train of thought, the next scene will be described as much as possible in the terms of what Inglor heard.

A rhythmic, shushing sound approached him from behind. Haleth made a noise that a modern reader would describe as a raspberry as she glided past the elf on her newly acquired skis. This was followed almost immediately by a wet thud, a quiet groan and the delicate noise of two sticks dropping into the snow.

Haleth had been busy in the time she had been gone. She had convinced the Lossoth to trade his extra pair of gliding boards and sticks for the exotic elixir and flask that Inglor had given her. She had caught up to the elf in no time, had expressed her opinion on the so-called superiority of elves for being able to walk lightly on top of the snow (ie. the raspberry) and then something had viciously hit her.

Her eyes slowly refocused to find the elf looking down at her, his beautiful features framed by his golden hair. Once more he appeared to be confused and possibly mildly concerned.

Haleth moaned again and forced herself into a seated position. It was then that she noticed the tree and each of her feet on either side of it.

"Are you going to be all right?" Inglor asked, offering her his hand.

"Oh, yes," Haleth grasped the offered hand and he pulled her upright. "As soon as all of those bells stop ringing."

"There are no bells this far north," Inglor said.

"Tell that to my ears," Haleth replied, gingerly rubbing her bruised forehead.

Inglor leaned forward and solemnly announced to her left ear, "There are no bells this far north."

"That's fine, Inglor, " Haleth winced and raised her hands in supplication. "It's simply a figure of speech. I gave my head a nasty crack.

"Another figure of speech," she added hastily before he started to examine her skull for fractures.

"What are those on your feet?" he asked, pointing to the boards.

"The Ice men use them to travel quickly over the snow," she said, digging for her poles.

"Do they also stop by running into trees?"

"Not to my knowledge, no." Haleth retrieved her sticks. The world straightened and the bells grew quiet. She pulled her feet and the boards away from the tree and began to glide south. "They probably have devised less painful ways of stopping."

"Oh," said the elf, walking quickly beside her.

"Maybe they aim themselves at large rocks?" he suggested.

"Having just tried it with a tree, I don't think I'd recommend it," Haleth answered.

"Maybe they glide into the bay and the open water stops them?" he offered.

Haleth looked at him as sharply as her independently moving eyes would allow. Inglor tended to become mildly sarcastic when he was annoyed. Judging by the current conversation, he had to be awfully upset.

"I doubt that, too," she said, watching where she was going.

They moved through the cold, white world without speaking.