Leaping through the snow, George caught up with the wandering trees, and upon their branches sat every animal you could imagine, and just like the leaves that shook and trembled with each perennial footstep, they sang in their own particular way, giving words to the wordless music that tickled their animal hearts. The door they were heading for wasn’t far from them at all, and the closer they moved towards it, the more it called. With the snow sweeping them along, George ran with the agility of a cat half his age, and although he wasn’t one to brag, he was most delighted with himself and hoped Prudence appreciated his prowess. As a matter of fact, she did, yet her attention was drawn to the many doors shining all around her. It felt as if each contained a story—some part of herself she already knew, and if she focused hard enough on a particular door, she could see in her mind the images from a distant time, still alive as if such moments had no end. The door they were searching for—the one George was taking her to with such purpose—she couldn’t seem to make sense of. And yet although she couldn’t see what it contained, she felt its presence quite clearly. It had an aura akin to the first rays of light at dawn, and it reminded her of those times in life when she felt blessed to be alive, even in those days when the gift of air in her lungs was seen as a curse. Gripping Herbie in her beak—tight enough to stop him from falling but not so tight to cause him harm—she sunk her claws into George’s fur who in turn took it as a sign to go faster. And faster he went, darting between the trees until the light coming from her door was as bright as the whites of their starstruck eyes.