Frost & Shadow

Cole sat by the fire, carefully scraping the last remnants from the pelt of a hare caught in one of their traps that afternoon. I stir the pot of boiling water, plain chunks of meat and small, hardy potatoes circling the spoon in a modest, steaming stew. We had returned home only an hour ago, finding the fire reduced to glowing embers, our parents still gone into town. We've checked every snare and trap, except one placed hours upstream by the river—a place animals might visit for water. My eyes flicked to the small hare pelt in Cole’s hands. I shake my head. Its so small, so little. “They’re not enough. We need something bigger, something that will keep us fed for a couple of days. Then maybe we can fix the house—or go into town and make a few coins with Mom and Dad.” Cole scrapes knife against the pelt, making my teeth ache. “We’ve been out every day, Laine. We’ve set every trap we could. We don’t have rope for anything bigger.” I pressed my lips together and sighed, brushing my hair off my shoulder. My brother looked so much older than his years with his hands stained from work, shoulders already too broad for a boy his age. Stronger than most grown men, but still—he was just Cole. When I’d been fourteen, I hadn’t thought about snares or frostbite. I’d been free, running through fields while Mother tended the garden, riding into town with Father just to laugh and eat fresh bread from the market. I hadn’t known how fragile allchapter that was. Now, no one stepped outside unless they had to. The snow wasn’t something to play in anymore. It bit, it burned, it took. “We’ll find something,” I said, though the words were more hope than cert8ainty. I dropped a few green onions into the pot. The stew was thin, barely broth, but it would be something warm in our bellies. Mother and Father would be home soon, dragging themselves back from town with stiff fingers and tired eyes. I glanced at Cole as he finished with the pelt and pointed toward the tin of water cooling by the bedroom door. “I’ll wash and stretch it tomorrow. Go clean up,” I told him, my voice sharper than I meant. I hated how the cold always made me short-tempered. Cole just nodded, his eyes soft in a way that made me ache with guilt. He draped the pelt over the rod above the mantle and tossed the scraps aside before scrubbing his hands and neck. I turned back to the stew, my mind already on tomorrow—always tomorrow. “I’ll check the trap by the river,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure if I was promising him or myself. He only grunted before saying, “I’ll need to gather more wood. Are you sure you’ll be alright going that far alone?” I gave a small laugh, though it sounded hollow in the cramped room. “I’ve done it a hundred times. Haven’t I?” When I turned, he was watching me, towel in hand, the firelight catching on his serious expression. “Just be home by dark,” he said, like Father would have. “I know, Cole.” Before I could say more, the heavy thud of boots against the porch rattled the doorframe. The door opened with a squeek, and my chest loosened with relief. The small flames in the hearth flickered, as the freezing wind rushed over it, I hurried to coax life back into the embers. Mother and Father brushed snow from their pants, the fabric soaked from the knees down, with clinging chunks of packed snow. I stand to help them remove their wet coats, knowing their fingers are probably numb from the walk home. “Fire’s hot, come sit,” I called, rushing to help Mother out of her heavy coat next. Her arms trembled from the weight of it. Father slipped into the beaver slippers Cole had made weeks before, and the sight almost made me smile. Almost. Father's too thin hands rub together, trying to will warmth back into them. I glanced at Mother as I help her into her slippers, her cheeks slightly sunken, her under eyes darker than ive ever seen them. My gut twists, as I realize just how much they've changed, how frail they've become. Mother's numb fingers reached back into her half frozen coat, pulling out 2 coins. Cole's eyes caught on them as she let them drop into the small dish that sat on top of the hearth, the coins clinking as they settled. They sat gratefully in front of the fire, shoulders sagging as the warmth kisses their cheeks. Cole and I moved quickly, ladling stew into bowls, I make sure to give Cole that extra scoop from what would be mine, like always. The move earns me a side eye from him, but he doesn't argue. “Managed a hare today,” Cole said, his voice quiet, almost apologetic, as he passed Father a steaming bowl. “And two coins from the tomatoes,” Mother added, her lips curving into a faint but brave smile. I caught Cole’s gaze across the hearth, and in that small exchange, I felt the knot of worry in my chest loosen just a little. I let a smile tug at my lips. “Good day all around, then,” I murmured. I let my eyes flicker to Cole, scanning over his features too. Hes a bit thinner yes, but he hasn't changed much, which im greatful for. I settled beside the fire, cradling my bowl in my hands. The warmth seeped into my skin, chasing back the chill lodged in my bones. Outside, the frost clawed at the walls, relentless and merciless. But here—just for a moment—the four of us had enough.