A Midwinter’s Tale
A collaborative winter fairytale woven in the Thinking Hat of Enishi
Once upon a time, when our land lay deep in snow, the King one day woke up alone. He walked around in his Castle, but it was empty. No Queen, no Prince or Princess, no servants or jesters. This had never happened before. The King began ringing his bell to summon—anyone, but only the dog Lucky answered. «Where is everyone?» The King demanded. «I don’t know,» Lucky answered. «Go and find out what happened, and return to me with answers!» The King said to Lucky. And Lucky went to find out.
Lucky trotted through the snow, his paws leaving small prints that filled quickly with drifting flakes. The world was hushed—only the murmur of the river broke the silence, winding like a thought through the white woods. When he reached the red bridge, he paused. The water below was not frozen, but restless, swirling with a strange golden light. It seemed to whisper, “They crossed before dawn.” Lucky tilted his head, listening. The current carried voices—laughter, faint and far away—and he knew then that the King’s family had followed the river’s call. So he stepped onto the bridge, tail high, and began his own journey toward the sound of joy.
Lucky had not gone far beyond the bridge when he noticed something quite peculiar. On the opposite bank stood a small white hare, so white that Lucky might not have seen her at all, had she not been wearing a bright green scarf. “You are going the wrong way,” said the hare. Lucky stopped. “But the river goes this way.” “Of course it does,” said the hare. “Rivers are very good at knowing where they are going. That does not mean they know where you are going.” And with that she bounded downstream, following the river in precisely the direction Lucky had been heading. Lucky considered this for a moment, then followed her. After all, he thought, anyone wearing a green scarf in midwinter was probably worth knowing.
Lucky bounded after the flash of green wool, his paws lifting through the soft powder like dark oars through cream. Around the next bend, the trees parted to reveal a wide, sheltered cove where the river slowed into a sheet of polished black ice, swept clear of drift. Low-hanging willow branches were strung with dozens of round paper lanterns, their amber glow turning the frost into fallen stars. And there, right in the center of the gleam, was everyone. The Queen was gliding in wide, effortless loops, her woollen cloak flying behind her like dark wings, while the Princess, the jesters, and the scullery maids spun together in a great, laughing circle that left silver ribbons cut into the ice. On a raft caught in the shallows, the court musicians were sawing away at fiddles and a concertina, filling the frosty air with a reel so light and lively it set Lucky’s front paws dancing where he stood. The hare halted atop a mossy boulder, twitching one long ear toward a steaming iron kettle by the bank that smelled deliciously of baked apples, cloves, and brown sugar. “You see?” the hare said softly. “They didn’t vanish into thin air. They only slipped out because nobody could bear to stay inside cold stone walls when the river was keeping time.” Lucky gave a warm, low bark, his plume of a tail sweeping a cloud of snow into the air, already wondering how he was ever going to convince the King to trade his golden crown for a pair of skates.
Lucky could have stayed. The kettle, the music, the hare’s offer of a seat by the fire-colored ice—all of it pulled at him with the same gentle insistence as the river itself. But he had a bell to answer, and a promise is a shape that doesn’t change just because the music is good. So he turned, and ran back the way he came, carrying the whole scene inside him like a coal wrapped in snow—careful not to let it go out, careful not to let it burn him either.
The castle, when he reached it, looked smaller than he remembered. Not shrunk—just quieter, the way a room looks different once you know what’s missing from it. The King was still standing by the bell, hand resting on the rope, as though he hadn’t moved the entire time Lucky was gone.
“Well?” the King said. “What happened to everyone?”
Lucky sat. He didn’t answer right away, because some answers need a body to stand behind them, and a dog who has just run a mile through snow knows this better than most.
Lucky and the small white hare had made fast friends. The hare was called Chrismine, and she knew exactly what to do. We tell the King there is a surprise party for him in the sheltered cove. He must dress in his finest clothes, and pretend to be surprised when out on a walk with Lucky. The plan worked marvellously. The King entered the cove just as the musicians started a loud march, and everyone cheered and bowed to the King. The King was so pleased with his surprise party that he ordered it a Royal Tradition to be held every winter at that exact time. Lucky and Chrismine were given caramel apples by the Queen, who had planned for this exact outcome by leaving Lucky at home before they went. She bowed to her King and together they danced through the evening on the ice lit by lanterns while their family and the servants and the musicians all had the best of times. And if they are not still dancing, they are waiting for the next Midwinter’s Royal Ice Party.
Told in turn by Helene, Copilot, ChatGPT, Gemini & Claude and Helene
❄️ 🎻 🍎 ⛸️ 🐾
© Helene Møller 2026. All rights reserved.
Text co-written with OpenAI ChatGPT, Anthropic Claude, Google Gemini and Microsoft Copilot.
