INDY
I had been here for a month, and they wanted to celebrate the occasion.
It was strange how quickly exile could transform into something that resembled belonging. The small cabin tucked deep within the forest had begun to feel less like a hiding place and more like a refuge. Irene insisted that a month without discovery was something worth acknowledging. Otis had even suggested roasting what little dried fruit we had left to mark the occasion.
However, the winter had grown harsh, far harsher than any of us had anticipated.
For the past week, the snow had not stopped. It fell in relentless sheets, swallowing the forest inch by inch until the world beyond our cabin looked like a frozen ocean of white.
I already missed the sun.
It was a good thing we had hunted excessively before
