"Th-th-threeh-horn r-r-rule number tw-twenty s-seven," Cera said as clearly as she could to her wide eyed little sister. "The-threehorns d-d-don't live I-in c-c-cold places because p-people who d-do are either d-dumb or l-l-lost... St-still, it's n-not that c-cold, r-right?"
Lies, lies, and more lies, and this time even she couldn't fool herself. She was cold because it was cold, and for the life of her she couldn't remember a time when it had gotten quite this skin-reddeningly frigid this early in the year. The wind chill felt like someone was slowly peeling off her skin with a shard of sharp ice water, and she didn't get it-- she truely didn't. It was fine just a few days ago! What, did the clouds look down on the great valley and say to themselves 'Hey, look at this nice appealing looking warm valley with all it's happy go lucky inhabitants! You know what would be really funny? If we made winter come four months early and watched them jitter around like a bunch of upturned crawlers! Hardy hardy har har!'
Cera looked down at her shivering sister and felt a bit more pitying than bitter. The poor thing didn't look much better off than she was. She snuggled up close to Patricia in a vain attempt to share body warmth.
Suddenly, Cera looked up. "W-was that T-Tria calling j-just now?"