held Gabriel to his bare chest, and tied the torn and dirty blanket around them both.
Gabriel moved feebly against him and whimpered briefly into the silence that surrounded them.
Dimly, from a nearly forgotten perception as blurred as the substance itself, Jonas recalled what the whiteness was.
“It’s called snow, Gabe,” Jonas whispered. “Snowflakes. They fall down from the sky, and they’re very beautiful.”
There was no response from the child who had once been so curious and alert.
Jonas looked down through the dusk at the little head against his chest.
Gabriel’s curly hair was matted and filthy, and there were tearstains outlined in dirt on his pale cheeks.
His eyes were closed. As Jonas watched, a snowflake drifted down and was caught briefly for a moment’s sparkle in the tiny fluttering eyelashes.
Wearily he remounted the bicycle. A steep hill loomed ahead.
In the best of conditions, the hill would have been a difficult, demanding ride.
But now the rapidly deepening snow obscured the narrow road and made the ride impossible.
His front wheel moved forward imperceptibly as he pushed on the pedals with his numb, exhausted legs.
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