What if the road I’m on wandered till it’s dirt and met the tall grass of a summer field? Would you find me there? What if the sun fell below the swaying trees and the cold lifted from the stream across your fingers? Would you reach for me in the chill? What if I sparked a fire to rage through the night? Where the snapping of wood drifts off under warm covers made from the melody of you and I.
About three feet of snow had fallen and covered up the earth around the cabin, and Drift had just gone out to get Fire wood. He hummed a bit as he walked through the snow, unaware he was being targetted.