Snow swirled so thickly outside that I couldn't see anything but. We were fortunate to find an untenanted cave to wait out the storm. It almost felt as if Ray, Dief, the dogs, and I were the last beings alive in all the world.

For now that seemed romantic, but it would quickly start to pale if the snow didn't let up soon.

Concerned, I watched my Ray, who sat surrounded by the sled dogs. He looked tired, even a bit haggard, in the flicker of our campfire. The last two weeks had been difficult for him, yet he rarely complained and never stopped trying. He was so strong, a true survivor, but I knew it wore on him to be so dependent on me here. Not that he didn't like to be taken care of--I could tell that he did, even if it made him uncomfortable to say so--but he preferred not to *need* it, preferred to be self-sufficient. I understood that.

It still amazed me that he'd agreed to stay here with me. He gave up so much....

I understood how much he'd given up. To my surprise, *I* often missed Chicago, our... friends, our life, while when I was there I couldn't wait to leave, to return here. If I went back, would I be pining for the Territories again? Probably.

Foolishness. I would not let myself be like those tiresome people who were never happy where they were, always wanting to be somewhere else. If my father were here...

I buried all of those thoughts. I had everything I wanted. My home. My Ray, all to myself.

Ray stared out the entrance and absentmindedly stroked whichever dogs settled closest to his hands. They almost seemed to be taking turns for that honor, shifting about so that no one was left out. As they warmed and comforted him, their devotion to him touched me.

"You'd do well to emulate them," I whispered to Dief. He rolled his eyes.

"Snow, snow, and more snow. Does it ever do anything else out here?" Ray asked softly. "Isn't there some Norse myth says the world's gonna end this way?"

"Ray?"

"Giant wolf'll eat the sun, then the world'll get buried under a thick blanket of snow."

"I... believe so, yes."

Ray nodded. "Thought so."

My worry increased. Ray's soaring highs had corresponding deep lows, and he's spent more time in the lows of late. I had to distract him from this morbid train of thought. "Could I ask you something, Ray?"

He finally looked at me. "Sure."

"It may seem frivolous."

He almost smiled. "'Frivolous' would go down real nice right now."

"I understand that you renamed the sled dogs for Santa's reindeer."

"But?"

"I don't understand 'Ned Nederlander.'"

"What's to understand? He's a sled dog."

"I mean his name."

"I just didn't have enough reindeer names. Might've tried 'Olive'--as in 'Olive, the other reindeer'--but he didn't strike me as an Olive, ya know?"

"I'm sorry, Ray. What I'm trying to say is that I understand that the others were named after famous reindeer. I don't understand why you named the last dog 'Ned Nederlander,' occasionally known to you as 'Little Ned,' or why you smile when you mention him."

Ray grinned, and it warmed the cave. "Highly obscure pop reference there. You ever see a movie called _Three Amigos!_?"

"I don't believe so."

"I haven't for a while either. I actually learned the word 'plethora' from that film, and so did a lot of other people. It has Chevy Chase, Steve Martin, Martin Short.... Oh, what am I talking about. You don't watch movies unless I make ya. You probably don't even know who those guys are."

"I know of Martin Short. He's a Canadian comic who was awarded the Order of Canada in 1994."

"What's that all about?"

"That's equivalent to the British knighthood, Ray."

"To Martin Short? I mean, I can see the Brits giving a knighthood to Sean Connery, but--"

"Are you questioning my country's judgment?"

"Not this Chicago flatfoot." Ray regained some of his animation as he spoke. "Okay, so the movie's story has these three unemployed actors--who were silent film comedy Western guys, the Three Amigos of the title--and they accept an invitation to come to a Mexican village. They figure it's a paid personal appearance thing, just them showing up in costume for fans, but it turns out the villagers want them to fight this real-life baddie, El Guapo, like they would in the movies. Thing is, they're *actors*, and they're not really bright actors either. No brains, no bravery, no skills, no luck. Anyway, in the amigos you had one actor named Lucky Day and another named Dusty Bottoms, while the last guy was--

"Ned Nederlander?"

"Known in his earlier, child star career as 'Little Ned.' Played by yer Canadian knight, Martin Short. Got it in one."

I understood. In a pack of dogs that had names like "Prancer" and "Cupid," "Ned Nederlander" would be every bit as incongruous as he would be in a pack of actors with outlandish names. But I still had a question. "How did they deal with El Guapo, then?"

"Huh?"

"You said they were overmatched, and the townspeople must have been as well if they called for help to begin with. How did the actors win against El Guapo?"

"Well, they tried a stealth raid, and that was a bust. Hilarious, especially that bit about raping the horses and riding off on fast women--"

"Ray!"

"It's a quote from the movie." Ray grinned. "Dusty's mouth is about as matched up with what brain he has as mine is."

"I have great respect for your brain."

"Yer full of it."

"I've always felt that you simply face moments when your brain is moving too quickly for your mouth to follow."

"That's pretty damned fast considering my mouth."

"Exactly."

He shook his head but smiled. "So they botch it, and El Guapo's coming to the town after them. They ask the townspeople if they have any special gifts that might help. 'We can sew,' they say. You can imagine how real impressed the actors are with that. But it turns out to have some use, because when El Guapo comes there are all these people running around in Amigo costumes, and he doesn't know who's who, right? I mean, in real life, they wouldn't have the materials or time, but it's a comedy, and their plan works. With the townspeople's help, they save the day."

"I like that."

"What, that the actors redeem themselves and that the townspeople end up having something they can use to help defend their town? Yeah, figured you'd like that." He shivered.

"You can come over here if you're cold, Ray." The North sculpted its natives into compact forms to enable them to retain vital warmth. Ray's long, slender body, while aesthetically pleasing, bled heat badly. He suffered from it.

He seemed so fragile, so lost, out here sometimes....

"Eh. Chicago, the Yukon, whatever, I'm cold. Always cold. Would probably be cold in Arizona too." But he carefully stood up--gently displacing the dogs with a smirk and an "On Dasher, on Dancer"--and sat next to me. The dogs followed.

I gathered him in and settled the blanket around us. My cold home gave me a wealth of excuses to hold him close that he did not question. Even his earlier hypothermia had been something I'd selfishly taken advantage of.

His shivering slowly dissipating, he leaned his head against my shoulder and closed his eyes. If his hair had been experimental before, wearing a hat over it most of the time had turned it into an even wilder explosion of planes and angles. He smelled of dog, snow, pine, and unwashed Ray. I fancied I could hear the slow, steady throb of his heart through all the layers of clothing that separated us.

Life here, in my own home, would be inconceivable without him, and when did that happen?

"Yer happy here, right?" Ray asked suddenly.

"Yes, Ray."

He borrowed deeper into my shoulder. "Good. Yer my best friend; ya should be happy. Deserve it."

But so do you, Ray.

**********************THE END***********************

More Viridian5 stories can be found in The Green Room at http://members.tripod.com/~drovar/viridian/