The ring in winter. The spring’s beautiful sleep, she thought. Well, that explains that. The words could only be describing the frozen pool. How...ver, she certainly didn’t remember ever seeing anything similar at the spring before.That left only the final two lines of the poem. Touch in its center was an obvious – if somewhat perilous – instruction. The promise she’ll keep was still a complete mystery. What promise? Whose promise?While she stood pondering, an all too familiar itch arose. "Then tell me their names. Surely, you can remember their names." Their names?" asked John sheepishly. "That is another damneddifficult question for me to answer right now." John scratched hishead in contemplation. "I'm almost positive I might have known theman hour ago, but, right now, I can't exactly recall our daughter'sname, although I'm almost certain it might have started with a 'C'.And I'm definitely almost halfway positive that we must have namedour boy after my father, or it could. More

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