Dasher, Dancer, Prancer…
Leah recited the names silently as she raced around the dark country lanes, her eyes on the road and her foot heavy on the accelerator. She wasn’t so much dashing through the snow as speeding through the sleet, the narrow verges either side blurred smudges of dark slush, the road shining wet. She knew the roads well, and she knew the dangers, and so she knew she was travelling way too fast. She kept her foot down anyway. There was satisfaction to be heard in each hard corner – the swish of mud and slush under the tyres. The wipers were squeaking back and forth and she used them to mark a rhythm in her head.
