The Thump at the Lane's End
Rae pressed a mitten against the gate rail and felt the frost crumble. It was soft and gritty, like sugar. Sunny leaned on the gate beside them, warm as a loaf of bread. Lamps glowed all down the snow village lane. Behind the windows, someone was warming milk with cinnamon, and the smell crept out under the doors. Rae breathed it in and smiled. Then, from the dark end of the lane, came a sound. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Rae stood very still. Sunny stood still too, her eyes closed in a smile. The thumping came again, slow and patient, from past the last lit window. "That part is dark," said Rae. "I don't go down there." The snow made everything quiet, the way a blanket does. Rae's boots felt heavy and stuck. But the thumping kept going, slow and polite, like a knock on a door that nobody had answered yet. Rae looked at Sunny. Sunny waited.
"I'll go as far as the next lamp," said Rae. "Just that far." They walked, and Sunny padded along beside them, leaving round soft prints. The snow squeaked under their boots. At the lamp, Rae stopped and put a hand on the cold iron post. The cinnamon smell was fainter here. Woodsmoke took its place, grey and sweet. The thumping came again, closer now. One step, then another, then one more.
The second lamp was further along, by a blue door with a wreath on it. Rae looked back at the gate. It seemed small and far away. "Still here," Rae said, and Sunny made a low rumbly sound like a kettle thinking. Now the air smelled of hay. Rae had not expected hay. It was a warm, dusty, outdoors sort of smell, and it did not smell frightening at all. Thump, went the dark. Thump.
Past the second lamp, Rae's heart was quick. They counted their breaths, the way you count stairs. The snow muffled everything except that sound. Sunny walked at Rae's pace, not one step faster. Rae put a hand on Sunny's shoulder, which was thick and soft and honey-gold. "We're nearly there," Rae whispered. One step, then another, then one more. The last lamp threw a round yellow circle onto the snow, and Rae stepped into it.
In the circle of light stood a shaggy brown pony. In front of the pony sat a water bucket with a lid of ice on top. The pony lowered her nose and bumped it. Thump. The ice held. She bumped it again. Thump. All along the fence rail, little brown sparrows waited with their feathers puffed out, watching the bucket, wanting a drink. Rae laughed out loud, a small surprised laugh. The dark had been trying to help somebody.
Rae knelt down by the bucket. The ice was thin at the edges and thick in the middle, like a plate. Rae pressed with both mittens. Crack. Then they lifted the cold white plate out and set it gently in the snow. Water showed underneath, dark and shining. The pony dipped her warm nose and drank. Her breath came out in clouds that smelled of hay. Sunny sat beside Rae and watched, delighted, as if this were the best thing all winter.
The sparrows came down one by one and drank from the edge. Rae stayed very still so they would not startle. The pony leaned her big head near and breathed on Rae's hood. Behind them, the whole lane of lamps went all the way back to the gate, every one of them lit. It did not look far at all now. It only looked like home with a path through it. Rae stood up slowly and brushed the snow from their knees.
They walked back together, past the blue door, past the second lamp, past the first. Rae held Sunny's paw the whole way, and Sunny held on. The cinnamon smell found them again near the gate, warm and close. One step, then another, then one more. Inside, the stove ticked. Rae lay down under the heavy wool blanket with Sunny curled alongside, paw still in hand. Outside, the snow kept falling, soft and slow, covering everything that was already quiet.
