Merlin hid around the corner, a bag of flour in his hands and a mischievous little smile on his face. Suddenly, he popped out from around the corner, sticking his hand in the bag, and tossing a handful of flour toward the unsuspecting stranger.
So the water was cold. So very cold. It had gotten to that kind of cold, where the frozen blades of grass crinkled and crackled when stepped on, when the trees, naked and shivering, were coated in a glinting layer of frost, and when the river that ran through Kensington Gardens became cold; so very cold. Crouched over by the banks in a pose not dissimilar to a crow’s, Peter’s gazed into the icy river with a slight frown. The stars of dusk had begun reflecting in the water, but the fish weren’t there. Did they have a summer home, perhaps? Peter wouldn’t blame them; he’d hate to live in a river so cold himself. After a moment of staring, however, Peter realized there was a reflection in the water, and looked up to the stranger across the bank with an air of bemusement. “Hullo.” was all he said at first, standing up in place and waving from across the river. “You know, it’s almost lock-out time, watch you don’t get stuck in here overnight.”