Prince Poynt has never liked the
winter. The first time he saw snow, he toddled outside, fell snout-first into a
snowdrift and nearly suffocated. Mother hauled his frozen little body indoors to
sit by a warm fire, while Redfur and Sibiline laughed. Bad memories lingered.
He sometimes wishes he hadn't managed to convince himself of eternal winter just to keep his fur white. But the stoat's summer coat is so dull. Sacrifices must be made. "Pride must be pinched," as Mother always said.
Poynt draws closer to the blazing fire, and wonders why his pelt and robe drip with sweat.
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