RIDING WITH THE BEAST
CHAPTER 66: THE SECOND WINTER
The first frost came earlier than anyone expected, painting the high ridges white before the last sheaf of grain had even been carted into the storehouses, before the final basket of apples had been gathered from the orchards along the river. This would be our first winter under the new agreement, and no one spoke openly of the quiet fear that hung over every hearth and every gathering — the fear that when the snow piled waist‑deep and the roads closed tight, old habits would return like a tide, old gates would be barred and bolted, and every hand would turn back to grasping only what they could hold close for themselves.
We had planned for months, mapping every need and every reserve. Storehouses were built in every valley and every h
