Winter wonderland edition 6 - typed in sweden

Twenty-two boots squelched on icey snow. The feet skipped a little out of rhythm, it was neccesary to break the endless march otherwise they would find themselves and the golden crown of the monarchy crashing onto the thin whispering sheets of ice below them. At the end of the bridge a little girl squatted in white snow, listening to the sound of the boots. Much to her delight it sounded quite like a small winged plane dipping down from the always-grey sky.