It was warm inside the house. TT felt safe and cradled by love with Grandad Tom's arm wrapped around his shoulders. The night sky was a deep midnight blue with long smoke-like wisps of grey clouds here and there. They were waiting, waiting for the snowmoon, the snow and that green fantailed comet to appear in the sky of the cold stillness of the never-ending fields with the black filigree outlines of the branches of the winter trees that lay beyond the garden gate where TT lived. "This is the night of the SNOWMOON," he whispered to TT. They waited and waited. It came. All of it. Just as Grandad Tom had said it would.