"It's coming this way!" Donald Duck cried.

The four young ducks immediately surrounding him could just barely make out his words over the roaring sound created by the approaching avalanche.

"Time to leave!" Scrooge McDuck shouted, pushing his large framed pilot Launchpad McQuack forward. "Back to the plane, as fast as yoo can go!"

The old duck lead the way down the snowy mountain, back to where they had left the cargo plane.

"This was supposed to be a regular ol' snowboarding vacation!" Louie complained as he held tightly to both his brothers' hands.

"Look, up there!" Webby Vanderquack cried, pointing at a high ridge about fifty feet to the left of them. "I brought my grappling hook!"

The ridge in question was about fifty feet high and ran perpendicular to the direction the avalanche was traveling. The young duck pulled her pistol-mounted grappling hook from a side pocket in her military grade backpack and pointed it above a rock outcropping at the top of the ridge. She pulled the trigger and the hook flew into the overcast sky and lodged in something just out of sight over the ridge's edge. Webby tugged sharply on the rope several times before pulling herself up and beginning to climb.

"Och, will it be enough to climb up that to avoid the avalanche?" Scrooge asked, holding the end of the rope.

"I don't think we have any other options," Huey said, following the female duck up the rope.

"Launchpad, you are the biggest, so yoo go last," Scrooge said. "We will brace the rope as yoo climb."

Scrooge lifted Dewey and Louie onto the rope as Webby made it to the top of the ridge. She held onto the rope as the three boys made their way to the top.

"Yoo next, Donald," Scrooge said, pulling his nephew forward and giving him a boost, pushing him up the rope.

The old duck waited until Donald was on the ridge with the children before he started to climb up. He turned to look at the avalanche's progress. It was twenty feet away! Launchpad would have no chance to climb up. The pilot realized the danger and grabbed ahold of the rope and began scrambling up. Scrooge didn't recall making the remainder of the climb to the ridge, but as he climbed, the children and Donald pulled the rope up, hand over hand. Scrooge joined them when he reached the top. As Launchpad's feet were caught in the snow, he began to be pulled along with the avalanche, but his friends kept tight hold of the rope and managed to reel him in like a fighting fish on a line.

They weren't entirely safe on the ridge though. Snow and forest debris slid by all around them at breathtaking speeds. The snow level rose and rose until it was only a few feet below them on all sides. The group was left with only about a ten foot by two foot space to stand in, and the snow just kept coming. None of them spoke, there was no point, no one would have been able to hear over the deafening roar of the avalanche. The debris and sheets of snow became a danger as well as the avalanche rose around them.

"Dewey, watch out!" Webby cried uselessly.

The duck couldn't hear her warning as a massive sheet of hardened snow came towards him. If he didn't move, he would be hit by the corner of the sheet. Webby sprung forward and pulled Dewey out of the way, but in doing so, overbalanced and slipped off the ridge and into the river of snow and debris! Donald lunged after her in an attempt to pull her back onto the stone outcropping and did manage to grab ahold of her hand, but the force of the snow pulling on Webby's body pulled him along with it!

Both ducks disappeared within the avalanche as their horrified friends and family looked on, their screams lost amongst the snow. Then they were gone.

White, so much white!

Donald's mind was flooded by it. Swirling around him, it seemed to press in on him until he couldn't breathe and made him feel dizzy. Was his head above the snow? He couldn't tell, the overcast sky had been the same color as the snow prior to the avalanche. Panic began to consume him until he felt someone squeezing his hand so tightly, it was painful. He turned his head to find that he was still holding Webby's hand.

The girl's eyes were wide, but she didn't appear particularly panicked. Donald saw that she was kicking her feet and doing a breast stroke with her free hand, as if she were swimming. She appeared to be doing fine, so he did his best to quell the panic in his chest and kicked out with his own feet and use his free arm the way Webby was. The girl managed a grin as she looked at him. The strong swimming kicks of a duck who was most at home on the water joining hers, the pair was able to keep their heads above the top of the snow for a short time, but luck was clearly not on their side that day.

The river of snow plowed through an expanse of trees, only a few of the biggest of the trees were able to withstand the onslaught of snow, dirt, rocks and their fellow trees. As soon as they entered the once forested area, Donald felt the panic rise within him again. They had no way of know if they were about to hit a tree! He cried out as he felt something jagged and sharp slice across this right tricep. He had just enough time to turn to look back as a shadow loomed over him and Webby.

Time stood still as an absolutely massive tree trunk emerged from the snow and came smashing down towards the two ducks. Donald pulled Webby into his chest and wrapped himself around her in an attempt to protect her. His last thoughts before a sudden darkness overcame him was sadness that the boys would lose yet another parent.

The first thing Donald felt when he creeped back into consciousness was a constant, dull pain in his right upper arm and a throbbing in his head. Then he felt a slight chill surrounding him. The chilliness wormed itself into him and added to the exhaustion he was also feeling. He couldn't muster the energy to open his eyes, not until drops of cold water hit him directly in the face. He grunted at the coldness of the water and opened his eyes.

At first, he couldn't figure out what he was looking at. Above him was a dull yellow circle. At first he thought it was the sun, but he realized it was far too big and dull to be the sun in the sky. Plus, it was shaking around slightly. It wasn't until he heard Webby's voice that he realized where he was. The yellow sun was actually the beam of a flashlight shining onto the snow of the roof of wherever he was. Donald turned his head towards where he heard Webby's voice coming from. She was sitting, almost against Donald's left shoulder, talking into a small radio. She had a thermal blanket wrapped around her shoulders. An identical one was covering Donald and another was under him, he realized.

"Yes, Uncle Scrooge, I have my beacon activated," Webby said.

Donald scanned the space they were in. On the other side of Webby from him was a large tree trunk. The snow above them slanted down from the trunk at about three feet to a foot and a half just past Donald's right arm. The snow cave wasn't much longer that he was tall either. There was a flashlight stuck in the snow by his head.

He tried to move his right arm, but found that he couldn't bend his elbow. Webby dropped the radio and leaned over Donald, gently pressing his right arm back to the ground.

"You shouldn't move your arm," she said worriedly. "There's a very deep gash on the tricep area. I was able to stop the bleeding, but it will need stitches. If you move it, you could undo my work and start bleeding again."

Donald craned his head up and looked at his arm. The sleeve to his heavy coat had been cut off. His arm between his shoulder and elbow was neatly bandaged and his entire arm was splinted with two pieces of branch on either side to keep it immobile. It was then that he noticed the rather sizeable First Aid kit sitting next to the girl.

"Thank you," he said. "It looks like you did a good job. How do you know how to bandage wounds?"

"Before you and the boys came to the mansion, I had a lot of time to kill. I read…I read a lot."

"Webby? Webby are you there?" came Scrooge's brogue over the radio.

The young duck snatched the radio up to her mouth.

"Yes, I'm here, Uncle Donald is awake now. I was making sure he wasn't messing up his bandages."

"Is he still bleeding?" Scrooge asked, his voice sounding strained.

"I think it's stopped," Webby said into the radio.

"Are the boys alright?" Donald asked.

"Yes, they were able to ride out the avalanche on the ridge with Launchpad and Uncle Scrooge," Webby said. "They just got back to the plane when you woke up. You've only been out maybe twenty minutes at the most."

"How far away are they?" Donald asked.

"I don't know. The avalanche took us a long way from the others. It was moving fast."

"We…buzzzzzz…a sig….sssshhhh…Web…"

Scrooge's voice buzzed in and out and then the radio went dead. Webby tried contacting the old duck several times, but got nothing back but static. Finally, the little green light on the radio went out.

"It's dead," Webby said, uselessly shaking the device. "I made sure the batteries were fully charged before we left and didn't turn it on until a few minutes ago. I don't understand what's wrong with it."

Donald felt the panic coming back.

"Could we try digging out of here?" he asked.

"I tried when the avalanche finally stopped," she pointed to an area by his feet with clumps of snow sticking out the wall, "but it caved in, it was almost a disaster. The only reason we had any room at all is because of this tree trunk here. I just widened it a bit. I have no idea how deep under the snow we are."

"So we're stuck in here? Under who knows how much snow?"

"I do have my beacon and it is working," Webby said. "We just have to wait."

"What's a beacon?" Donald asked.

"It's just a transmitter, a simple radio that will transmit our position."

The girl picked up a black and yellow device that fit nicely in her hand. It had a switch and a couple buttons and a small digital screen at the top.

"We can't use it to talk to Uncle Scrooge and the boys?"

Webby shook her head.

"How long will it last?"

"This model will last about two hundred hours," Webby said. "It's one of the cheapest ones on the market. I had to save up for months for it."

Webby placed the beacon on top of her backpack, which was leaning against the tree trunk next to Donald's.

"I took the opportunity to go through our supplies after I bandaged you up and while I was talking to Uncle Scrooge," Webby said. "Of the supplies that will be useful to us now, we have two flashlights, three thermal blankets, one somewhat emptied out First Aid kit, matches, a pair of socks-yours, one of my sets of thermal long johns-which I am now wearing, a hat, three packets of trail mix, a variety of dried fruits, a fresh apple, four PB and J sandwiches and a bologna sandwich, two protein bars, a thermos of old coffee and two partially full thermos' of water."

At that moment the flashlight flickered and the beam got slightly weaker.

"Oh don't tell me that will go out on us," Donald grumbled. "You said you have a flashlight as well? That one is mine."

"Yes, but there are no extra batteries."

"I knew I should have at least brought my second flashlight. I didn't think I'd get caught in a snow cave."

"Well, this was supposed to just be a snowboarding and hiking trip after all. Are you hungry, Uncle Donald? Or thirsty?"

"No, I'm fine for now."

"How does your arm and head feel?" Webby asked. "You got a bump on the back of your head from the tree falling on you."

"They hurt a little, but not too bad. What about you? Are hurt at all?"

"I wasn't hurt thanks to you."

Webby pulled the blanket tighter around herself and shivered.

"It's cold," she said.

"I would think a snow cave would be warmer than the outside air, like an igloo," Donald commented.

"I properly constructed snow cave would be," Webby said. "But not as much as you would think. This is just a space in the snow, plus it is late afternoon, it's getting dark and the temperature is dropping."

Webby shivered again, clutching at the blanket.

"Webby, you should try to get out of here," Donald said. "You don't need to worry about me."

"I'm not leaving you down here," Webby said, shaking her head. "The boys and Uncle Scrooge have already lost too much."

Out of nowhere, Donald's throat tightened and he felt his eyes tear up.

"Yah, well," Donald said, his voice sounding strangled. "It would be too much for you to die down here. You are young and I am old. I've had a chance to live, you haven't. Plus, I'm terrified of what your grandmother would do to me if I were to live and you didn't."

Webby laughed a short laugh. She removed her thermal blanket from around her shoulders and spread it over Donald and the one he already had covering him. She scooted over until she was cuddled up against his left side under the blankets.

"This might help," she said. "Combined body heat."

A minute or two went by, neither duck said a word. Donald focused his attention on the yellow circle on the cave's ceiling. It had gotten smaller.

"Webby, promise me," Donald said. "If you have the opportunity to get out of this cave, take it. Don't worry about me."

"I already told you, I'm not leaving you behind."

"You might have to."

"I won't."

"Webby, please…"

"No, NO…I've seen how not having their mom in their lives affects them," Webby cried, hugging Donald around the torso, avoiding his injured arm. "I can't see how not having you in their lives will affect them too."

Webby sniffled a little. Donald felt a pang of remorse at upsetting her. He would have patted her on the shoulder if she hadn't been pinning his left arm to his body.

"Why don't you ever talk about your sister with them?" Webby asked, letting Donald go. "She is their mother. I'm sure they have asked about her."

Donald felt his throat tightening up again. Tightening to the point that he couldn't speak and felt like he couldn't breathe. That was the reason really. Every time he thought of Della, this happened. It would happen at random times. He would be shopping and find something he thought Della would like. He would be watching TV and see a joke that he knew she would laugh at. Her favorite band would come on the radio. He would see one of the boys do something amazing and she didn't get to see it. That was the hardest.

He must have made some sort of noise because Webby's face appeared above him. She looked down at him, a worried look on her face.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He managed a nod, tears started flowing.

"I want to tell them…about her," he gasped. "They'd love her…They are just like her."

Webby snuggled back down beside Donald. He tried to get control over himself.

"What do you think happened to her?" Webby asked.

"She's dead," Donald whispered. "She has to be. She wanted those boys more than anything."

A flash of anger rippled through Donald at the thought that went through his head. At the thought that always went through his head when he thought of Della.

"She would never just walk out on them…us. She couldn't do that…and then expect to return."

"What was she like?" Webby asked, deciding to not mention Della's note she had seen in the secret room in Scrooge's archives about taking the Spear of Selene.

"You saw the painting in Scrooge's garage," Donald chuckled. "She was all that and more. She was everything I'm not."

"Please tell me about her, Uncle Donald."

"She was an amazing pilot. Adventurous, funny, smart, talented. She loved practical jokes. She loved to pull them on me. I got her back though, a few times. One time, our last birthday before she laid the boys she pushed my face in our cake. I flung the cake into her face as she was laughing. The entire room was covered in cake when we were done. Uncle Scrooge was so angry. On adventures, she saved my butt so many times, I can't remember them all. She just disappeared. One day she was there, then she was gone."

Donald chuckled to himself as he remembered his sister, her courage and strength had always been contagious. When she was around, Donald had never been scared. They had some bad times, like when their parents died and when they first moved in with Scrooge, but it was mostly good. Without realizing it, he had begun to cry.

"Uncle Donald, it's OK," Webby said, rubbing his left forearm. "I've gathered that you've never been given a real chance to mourn her loss."

"There hasn't been time," he whispered. "Plus, that would mean she was really dead."

"But you said you think she is dead."

"I know and I do know that she is dead, but…"

"I know how you feel, it's the same way with my parents. I used to think that if I never said that they were dead, then maybe they would come back. I'd find them standing on the front steps and we could go off into the sunset and be happy forever."

Donald squeezed her hand.

"I'm sorry you lost your parents. I know how it feels."

"I-I don't really remember much about them and Granny barely mentions my mother, never my father," Webby said quietly. "My mother was her only child. I don't know much about my grandpa Beakley, but he's been gone a really long time too."

"What do you remember of your parents?" Donald asked.

"My most complete memory is one vacation we went on to the beach," Webby said, fondly. "I was just under five years old and they took me to this beach that had all these tide pools. I remember how excited they were to show me all the sea life in the pools. They were laughing and happy and then they were gone. They were killed not long after that day. Granny won't even tell me how they died. She just took me and shut me up in the mansion."

"What do you know about your grandmother?" Donald asked. "I've always wondered about her…previous employment."

"She used to work for the British government," Webby said. "I don't know what she did though. She won't talk about it, but a lot of my survival skills I learned from her…I know Uncle Scrooge has suspected that she used to be a spy."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Donald said. "What else do you remember about your parents?"

"My Granny says I look just like my mom did when I was her age and we have the same laugh," Webby said. "My mom liked photography, I remember that. Most of her pictures are lost. A few got published in magazines, so I have those. She always read me bedtime stories. My dad was handsome. He had the bluest eyes I've ever seen. He loved ice cream and would always order us a banana split and we'd share it. I remember that. My dad was always traveling, I don't know what for though."

"They sound like nice people."

Webby nodded.

"When did your parents die, Uncle Donald?"

"When I was about your age."

"I wish my parents had lived that long at least," Webby sighed. "I love my Granny, but I wish I had my mom and dad around a lot."

Donald squeezed the girl's hand again.

"I wish my parents were around still too."

"Who is Huey, Dewey and Louie's dad?"

Donald sighed and shook his head.

"Della could be really secretive. She never told me who he was. I asked and asked and asked. She refused to talk about him or tell anyone his name. She became more and more secretive towards the end…and then she was gone."

"Maybe she got mixed up in something bad."

Donald pondered that thought.

"Maybe," he said. "It wouldn't be out of the ordinary for her. She always jumped into things headfirst, often without looking."

Webby gasped as the flashlight died and the pair were plunged into darkness. She crawled over to where she knew the backpacks were and fumbled out the second flashlight. The cave was flooded with bright light as she switched it on.

"Or do you think we should save it for later?" Webby asked. "I can turn it off. The dark doesn't bother me."

"Let's keep it on," Donald said. "It should last a while. How long have we been down here?"

"Just over an hour."

Donald grunted. He was feeling quite cozy under the thermal blankets, with a downy space heater next to him. The warmth combining with his tiredness was lulling him to sleep and his eyelids began to droop. He shook his head to wake himself up.

"You can take a nap, Uncle Donald. I know you must be tired. You received a traumatic injury. That takes a lot out of a person."

"No, I need to stay awake," he said. "I'm the adult, I should be looking out for you, not the other way around."

"It's OK, I'm used to having to act older than I really am."

Donald felt a pang of sadness.

"I'm sure you are."

They fell into silence. Donald couldn't fight it anymore. He let sleep take him.

Donald woke up to a vibrating sensation that pulsated through his entire body. He knew that sensation well and he didn't need to open his eyes to know where he was. He was on Scrooge's cargo plane. Beneath his head he felt a soft pillow. Beneath his body he felt a thin mattress. Looking over to his right, he found his arm in a sling. He was pleased to feel no pain, but displeased to feel the loopy effects of a strong medication. He opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly to clear the fogginess from his vision.

He was lying on one of the fold out beds on the cargo plane. His nephews and Webby were sitting in the row of seats in the center of the plane. Webby was in the seat closest to him, wrapped in a thermal blanket. All four children were asleep. Donald couldn't see him, but he knew that Launchpad was at the controls. He didn't see his uncle anywhere. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry and all that came out was a croak which turned into a cough. The sound he made was enough to get someone's attention at least, as Donald heard quick, footsteps approach him from the direction of the cockpit.

"Finally, yoo are awake," came Scrooge's distinctive voice.

The man himself came into view. He had a worried look in his eyes.

"I was worried. Yoo two were buried for nearly six hours. It took as a while because you were so deep under the snow. Webby said that you were unconscious for most of it."

"How's Webby?" Donald asked after clearing his throat.

"The lass is fine. Just a scraped knee and a little chilled."

Donald nodded.

"And the boys?"

"They received no injury. How are you feeling, lad?"

"A little loopy, no pain."

"I gave you something for the pain," Scrooge said. "We are headed for the nearest air base. They have a medical team waiting. I rebandaged your wound, but I don't do stitches."

"How bad is it?"

"The cut is jagged and looks quite deep. It is about four inches long. It could have been much worse, you could have bled out if you didn't get immediate first aid. Webby probably saved your life."

"I was just repaying the favor."

Webby walked over to the bunk, her blanket wrapped around her body. She reached out and took Donald's left hand in hers. Donald looked to his uncle.

"Uncle Scrooge, could I have a moment to speak to Webby alone?"

The duck gave Donald a curious look, but nodded and went off towards the cockpit. Donald motioned for Webby to step close to his head.

"Thank you for bandaging me up and especially, thanks for letting me talk about my sister with you," Donald whispered into her ear. "It felt good to talk about her."

"I enjoyed learning about her," Webby whispered back. "But, you should talk to the boys about her."

Donald nodded.

"I know, I've tried in the past, but it just gets stuck in my throat," Donald said. "I will someday, I promise."

"Don't wait too long."

"I won't, talking with you has helped," Donald said. "It will make talking to them about it easier by far. I just ask one thing of you. Don't tell the boys about us talking about Della, not yet."

"I promise," Webby said. "But you need to tell them soon, very soon."

"I will."