Snowy Morning
Part III: A Good Kind of Funny
by North-took

White covered the ground like goose down from a ripped pillow or winter coverlet. Snow even dusted the trees, stark leafless sticks that now acquired a certain beauty that reminded Pearl Took of the fine lace collar on her mother's best frock.

"It snowed," Pearl clapped her hands together as she stood with her little brother in the kitchen doorway. "Look Pippin, snow!"

But Pippin chose to cling to her skirts, his face during in the faded green linen. It occurred to Pearl that Whitwell hadn't seen snow in the brief span of years that encompassed Pippin's memory. She picked the seven-year-old hobbit up in her arms and carried him outside where she plunked Pippin down on one of the wooden slats that defined the raised vegetable beds. The snow was high enough to be level with the top of the bed.

Pippin wiggled his toes in the snow and stared down at this new substance touching his unbrushed feet suspiciously.

"It won't hurt you Pip," Pearl assured him, reaching down to touch the snow. Her fingers peeled back the snow to reveal the winter rye planted as a cover over the vegetable beds. "It's pretty and fun."

Pippin remained unconvinced. He watched with great distrust as fresh flakes fell from the leaden sky and landed on the dark wool of his shirt.

Pearl decided it was best to demonstrate that snow was fun. She tipped her head back and stuck out her tongue to catch a plump flake as it descended. After a moment, her little brother copied her actions.

"It tastes funny." Pippin scrunched up his face.

Pearl laughed. "It tastes like snow."

"It still taste funny," Pippin announced. He caught another flake on his tongue. "But it's a good kind of funny."