Between Thursday

I left the mountains behind me and walked down the trail looking forward to my next stop.  The Bend.  A small pub like place owned and operated by a man named Solomon Swear.  A former judge, now turned eatery owner and sole staff member.  Down the trail and ‘round the bend, the plain wood building with no visible windows or doors was located in Monday and once I reached the building I circled around to the back as this is where the entrance was. Creaking open the wooden door, I was met with a very different scene than I had on my previous visit. Where upon entering last time, there had been no one there other than Solomon Swear himself, with a roaring fire in the huge fireplace, I was now met by the sight and sounds of twenty or more people, all appearing to be men or boys of different ages. Several were seated around one of the wooden tables playing a game of cards with a pile of coins and other odd items piled in the center.  Three were squeezed together playing, or should I say

I asked Acer to leave me at the base of the Mountains.  I didn’t want him to have to enter into Monday if he still had business, or whatever it was he did, back in Sunday.  I climbed off of Sir Noble, giving the horse a pat on his side and scratching his nose and promised Acer I’d visit again soon. Knowing that I would be heading into cold and snowy mountains I’d packed my charcoal gray fur wrap and now pulled it out of my bag then slung my bag over my shoulder and pulled the wrap around me.  Looking around, I found the stony pathway leading up the mountain and began the climb as the snow fell heavier and heavier around me. Before long I was knee deep in snow making the trudge up the mountain take longer than I remembered it taking the last time I was here.  With white all around me and the wind blowing snowflakes into my eyes, my visibility wasn’t very good so I listened carefully for the sounds of singing.  That is how I found the snow angels the first time.  Singing in their