Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 1-2 | Page 448

“Since we are so high up, we are bound to be cold.” Marissa said, with an air of explaining one and one to an over excited toddler, and who was wearing only a thin white blouse and jeans, did not feel cold. They tramped through the snow, sharp wind biting their exposed skin. Xuanzang did not even have a scarf! Just as he was about to freeze for real, a red-haired boy jumped out, and conjured a warm set of gloves and a scarf out of thin air! Magic! The boy bowed and said his name was Harold. He gave the gloves and scarf to Xuanzang and walked along with them, making happy chatter. The children laughd and giggled as they made their way up the mountains. The days flashed by as they talked, slept, cried and trudged through the Himalaya Mounties. One year blew away, and the friends found themselves in New Delhi, capital of India. They walked through wide roads, narrow ones, and cluttered ones, the fragrant smells of cooking Lakhanpur de bhalle, a delicious Indian street food wafting through the air. They spent days walking through the streets of India, sampling famous delicacies and street foods. Delicious! They were so enchanted by mouth-watering smells that they did not notice that they were standing at the edge of the Palace until Harold (now nicknamed Bobble, as he could do bobble-heads) pointed out they were going to bump into a steel gate. Marissa and Xuanzang looked up, and noted that they were looking at the kind and just face of the Indian Raja. He smiled indulgently. “Welcome, welcome. I was notified by your shifu that you would be coming, though that was a year ago. Plus, he didn't say anything about companions,” he squinted at Bobble and Marissa.