Blinking the snow from my eyes, we sat before the door listening to the music coming from within. The animals did the same, as did the trees that were circling upon the tips of their gnarly roots. With their branches raised to the clouds, the noises emanating from their trunks sounded like thunder, and I wondered if it were possible for them to be singing, or if it was that they were conversing directly to the gods above through some form of ancient speech. It didn’t matter either way. They were celebrating the moment, and the moment was all we would ever have to celebrate. The animals knew this too, for the songs they sang were as rich and as glorious as the music coming from the door. There were so many questions, and yet as I turned and looked at Rusty, I knew asking them would be pointless, for the only answer I needed was that which lied beyond. Like I, he was hypnotised by it, and as his tongue slipped out of his mouth, the ears upon his head stood upright. Every time the music changed, they pricked as if someone were saying his name. Aware of my gaze, he turned to me and sniffed the air. His whiskers vibrated to the sounds reaching out to us, and as the snow drifted to and then through the door, the call of what was waiting was almost too much to endure.