George shook his head and gasped for air. His whiskers were itching in suspense, and as they closed in on the door, he knew they’d be there in a jiffy. Upon his back, X was struggling to stay upright. She had her claws clamped firmly into his fur, and although he loved her dearly, he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from giving her an earful. Wincing as he leapt, she squawked and flapped her wings doing her best to keep the nearly sleeping Herbie from falling to the ground where he would surely disappear into the snow. In truth, Herbie didn’t need much sleep, but he thought it best to remain as still as possible. His grasp of the situation was limited, and if he were seen to be awake, they might involve him somehow, and he didn’t want that—he was only little after all. With the trees ahead of them raising their branches to the sky and the animals crying out at the top of their lungs, George came to a stop in an area where the snow wasn’t too thick. Turning his head, he eyed up X as she watched the commotion with a look of trepidation, yet as soon as he spoke and his words met her ears, almost at once, she appeared to embrace the nature of what was to follow.