SKYE'S POV
The first true freeze of the year did not arrive with a gentle dusting of frost upon the leaves; it came down the high passes like an iron fist, slamming shut the doors of the northern valleys and locking the world in a pristine, merciless white.
I woke up before dawn, the chill in the air biting sharply against my nose despite the heavy wool blankets we had pulled over the bed. For a long, disorienting moment, I lay perfectly still, staring up at the dark timber beams of our chamber, half-expecting to see the familiar silver rim of ice crystals blooming across the inside of the glass. But there were none. The double-paned shutters crafted by the Ironwood joiners held firm against the gale, and the stone walls, thick and layered with insulating moss and timber backing, retaine
