The chill air of the world that is waking up at dawn, blows at every strand of her hair, making them stand up to the sudden invasion of cold. Outside is entirely different from inside the cabin, where comfort is produced by the logs of wood, burning to ashes, barely tangible and seen in the air.
Slippers that are entirely too big for her by about half of her feet make it difficult for her to navigate the untrimmed grass and pools of mud in certain places that she can not see clearly in the dark, like landmines, but instead of blowing her up, it slows her down. So what she does, is she kicks the comfortable slip-on pair of feet protectors out of her tootsies (her mother used to call them) and she steps on the land, feeling every smooth, rough, hard, soft, edges of it at the soles of her f
