It was snowing. Again. Heavy and thick, like the clouds themselves were bleeding into the wind. Greta watched through a hole in the wood that covered most of the window, wondering how the sky could contain so much snow in the first place.
Although it was difficult to tell, since the light outside had been the same all day, curfew was approaching. The clock in the kitchen said it was just after five o’clock and curfew began at six. Greta peered through the snow, hoping to catch sight of her father’s shape among the swirling, endless white, but she couldn’t see him. She tried not to worry, but he was never late.
Greta glanced over her shoulder at the pot bubbling away on the stove. She had made a stew with the rabbits she’d caught yesterday, mixed with dried herbs, potatoes left over from the fall, and a can of…
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