Free WINTER WONDERLAND by Belinda Jones Page A

hour, unable to interact.
    Then again, perhaps they have some onboard communication system? ‘Sled One this is Sled Five, do you read me?’
    The Reception girl gets to her feet and leans over the desk to assess my outfit. ‘You seem okay, you want to borrow any extra clothing?’
    I politely decline the additional bulk. I’m roasting right now – all that sun streaming in the window of the taxi and now the fire: the chill will actually be welcome.
    ‘Ready?’ Sebastien enquires, motioning towards the door. ‘You lead the way.’
    I falter. ‘This is my first time here … ’
    ‘You’ll know where to go.’
    I retrace my steps to where the taxi driver dropped me and then survey the landscape. If I was going on vision alone I would be stumped, but the frenzy of yelping, barking and howling is something of a giveaway. All I have to do is head in the direction of the dog chorus.
    ‘They sound like they’re raring to go … ’
    ‘Always,’ Sebastien confirms, giving his peroxide blond tufts a good rub before replacing his hat.
    I glance sideways at him. I must surely have been imagining it but I have to ask: ‘I didn’t just see you doing a back-flip out of the barn, did I?’
    His jaw immediately tenses.
    ‘It was … ’ I don’t even finish my sentence because what must be a hundred huskies have just come into view.
    They are evenly spaced across the field, like a flourishing canine crop, each with their own small wooden hut and a stake bearing their name – Flanders is alert, curious, looking our way, his neighbour preoccupied with digging a big pit in the snow to lie in, just to be extra cosy. I am surprised how relaxed they seem – and so happy to say hello, sharing their luxurious fur with my now bare hand. I stumble from one to the other, marvelling at how different each coat is – finely tufted grey, shaggy black with a white muzzle, several with Friesian cow splotches and a multitude of Zorros and Caped Crusaders!
    I laugh as one pure white one jumps up and puts his paws on my shoulders.
    ‘You want a full body hug?’ I am quick to oblige.
    ‘Oh they’re all so lovely!’ I say, as I look around me – dogs, dogs, dogs, as far as the eye can see. But no people.
    ‘Where are the others?’
    Sebastien nods beyond the plains to the forest ahead. ‘They have already left.’
    ‘Can we catch them?’ I try to stave off my dismay.
    ‘You want to play chase?’ He looks amused. ‘We can do that.’
    Without much ado he harnesses a team of six dogs and bids me sit in the sled, which is lower and flimsier than I imagined – little more than a few pieces of balsa wood and matting.
    ‘Keep hold of this,’ Sebastien says as he hands me the rope that had previously been anchoring our ensemble.
    ‘Will do,’ I say, wondering if I’m sitting right, with my legs stuck straight out in front of me like a propped-up doll. But before I can ask, we’re off.
    It’s a juddering, rickety start, and within approximately five seconds I’m freezing – I hadn’t counted on the slashing chill of the wind, or the distinct lack of cashmere blankets, or ratty old tartan ones for that matter. Now I wished I’d taken them up on their lumberjack attire. I can feel my body stiffening with each thrum of the dogs’ paws.
    But their gait is so neat, the fluffy plumage of their tails swishing so jauntily, that I can’t help but smile. Then, as we mount the hill, I sense the dogs slowing with the strain.
    ‘I hope I’m not too heavy,’ I worry.
    No reply.
    I look behind me and – Jumping Jehoshaphat! – it’s happening again: either my mind is playing tricks on me or Sebastien is some kind of extreme gymnast. The only parts of him in the right position are his hands, gripping the bar. Other than that, instead of having his feet firmly planted on the rubberised foot panels, they are pointed skyward – his body erect and upside down as if he’s performing one of those parallel bar routines in the