Kazandra gave Zebulon a firm shove, and he blundered backward through the snow, blinking his familiar eyes at hers. There was a sound like trumpeting from the tusks of the Node Gate as the man passed between them and disappeared, a sound audible even above the whipping arctic wind.
“Goodbye,” Kazandra yelled after him, and quietly added, “Say hello to Mom.”
“Zandra!” the old Wizard shouted. Kazandra turned and found him struggling toward her through the snow, wrestling with the staff from which light still shown, illuminating a wide circle in the blowing snow. She hurried over and the old man leaned heavily against her. She brought them both back across the snow to stand before the gate.
“What did you say to him?” the Wizard shouted. His long white beard was flapping wildly from beneath his scarf, and the deep hood of his parka shadowed his face.
“Nothing I shouldn’t have!” Zandra answered, screaming into the Wizard’s hood as the wind was fierce, and the old man was about half deaf.
They stood before the gate, two bulky figures squinting up at the sky full of spinning snow.
“Is that long enough!” Zandra shouted, and the Wizard’s hood bobbed.
“I think so. From what I remember.”
Zandra jerked off a heavy mitten, letting it hang from a cord around her wrist. Her hand started to ache from the cold immediately. The light from the staff winked out as the Wizard leaned it against his thin chest in heavy furs, and Zandra felt along his lone arm down to his hand, and pulled off his mitten. The two clasped bare hands in the noisy darkness, and Zandra took a hold of the staff.
“Are you ready, Uncle Phin?” Zandra yelled, and Phoarty said that he was.
Zandra tugged the old Wizard along, and followed her father through the gate to Danor.