Snowbound Secrets. Virginia Kroll

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      For Pem Tandin, who graced my life

      and placed Bhutan in my heart.

      - Virginia Kroll -

      To Marc, my true love,

      with whom I share the path of happiness.

      - Nívola Uyá -

       Snowbounds Secrets

      Text © Virginia Kroll

      Illustrations © Nívola Uyá

      This edition © 2013 Cuento de Luz SL

      Calle Claveles 10 | Urb Monteclaro | Pozuelo de Alarcón | 28223 | Madrid | Spain

       www.cuentodeluz.com

      ISBN: 978-84-15784-72-2

      Printed by Shanghai Chenxi Printing Co., Ltd. xxxx 2013, print number xxx

      All rights reserved

      “Please, Papa, let me go, too,” begged Pem. “I’m a good yak-herder.”

      “Yes,” Papa agreed. “But now the snow is deep in places. Go to sleep and dream

      of summer.”

      “Papa, please!” Pem tried again.

      “If you keep whining, Yeti will get you,” warned Pem’s big brother, Bhim, grabbing

      her and growling.

      “Oh, Bhim,” squealed Pem, squirming away. “You’re just trying to scare me.” Still she

      wondered. Did hairy mountain monsters really capture troublesome children?

      At dawn, Pem was wide awake and winter-dressed as Bhim and Papa piled packs

      on the herd. “Pleeease,” Pem asked once more.

      Mama wrapped Pem’s warmest woolen shawl around her small, sturdy shoulders. “You

      may go, Daughter,” she said. When it came to decisions involving the children, a mother’s

      word was law. Pem hugged Mama tightly, then hurried to join Papa and Bhim for her

      first-ever mountain journey.

      Pem liked how the crispness of new air

      filled her lungs and made her feel clean from

      the inside out. She imitated squeaks of teeny

      pikas skittering to their hide-and-seek spots.

      She liked the clap of the yaks’ hooves as

      they hopped on rocks and clomped up hills.

      She watched the swishing of their shaggy

      flank fringe. Their soft snorts and grunts

      comforted her, and when she heard the cry

      of the sacred black-necked crane, she knew

      that all would be well along their trail.

      Of all the yaks, Pem’s favorite was

      cream-colored Karpo, whose name meant

      “fair one.” She had been born last year to

      Nado, the dark one. Now she and Pem would

      learn the secrets of trail-trekking together.

      Two windless days passed. The yaks