A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold
A long moment of silence followed the announcement during which the carving knife of Molaire was held suspended above the steaming roast.
The old man's gaze centered upon his son-in-law's face, and in that moment he knew that the younger man's decision had been made, and that nothing in the world could change it.
The words of Margot flashed through his brain: "If he goes, I go, and the little Margot, too. If one dies, we all die together." His little daughter, the light of his life since the death of her mother years before—and the tiny wee Margot who had snuggled her way into his rough old heart to cheer him in his old age—going away—far and far away into the God-knows-where of bitter cold and howling blizzard—and all on a fool's errand to find gold!
The keen blade bit the roast to the bone, raised, dripping red juice, and bit again.
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