“What? Are you—oh.” Raphael laughed as he saw what Milan had been shouting about. “It’s snow,” Milan said in wonder, pressing his hands against the cold glass. “Yes. Shall we take the dogs out after breakfast?” “They’ll die.” Raphael laughed again. “Just the other day you said it looks like the pups are walking on stilts, with how their legs have grown.” “Yes, but…their poor little paws.”
