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This snippet comes from a Georgian/Regency era Christmas story I wrote called Snowflakes & Beeswax. Since I'm still battling with the break-in scene, I've decided to jump ahead a bit and introduce my main character, Oliver Hamilton. I did sneak a 9th sentence in. Sorry mods!
Fat snowflakes performed lazy loops and spins before gravity exerted control and forced them to land. Pillows of snow softened the appearance of the high stone fence, flakes clung to a bare rosebush, and piled up beside a bee skep.
Oliver Hamilton dismounted his horse and loosely looped the reins around one of the Hawthorne tree’s branches, startling a couple of sparrows who’d been feasting on the brilliant red berries and wondered if bees currently resided in this particular skep, or if it would be used to entice a new batch when they swarmed in the spring.
He turned to the sleepy eyed man sitting on the heavy wagon that had followed the two riders from London.
“Are you coming?”
A small avalanche of snow cascaded off the Billy Myer’s hat brim, cascading past his florid face and settled on his barrel shaped chest. Billy ignored the snow and transferred the team’s lines to one hand and withdrew a large dented flask from his pocket with the other.
Billy enjoyed a long sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand before he grinned at Oliver and brandished the flask. “Nay, I’ll be just fine waiting right here while you take care of business.”