The fathers took the children tobogganing down the big hill in the moonlight, and the bright ice-laden snow twinkled like diamonds beneath the moon. Adrienne was nine, bundled up so snug with her stylish earmuffs.
Beside the dark woods, down the clear-lit hill upon their bucking toboggans, the children would glide, crying out in pleasure at the speed and the ghostly light, breath in clouds, their voices thin in the chill air.
And then they saw the wolves.
Three wolves stood at the verge of the trees, gazing down upon the children upon the slope, upon the fathers above, at the speeding toboggans.
The toboggans stopped. The children watched the wolves. The wolves watched the children. All was silent.
“Come, children,” said Adrienne’s father. “It’s best we went back to town.” There was no argument.
In a close group, the fathers and the children departed, drawing toboggans behind. The wolves silently watched them depart.
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