The top of the falls offered a bleak outlook so early in the morning. It was the beginning of her first winter in Kingfisher Falls. Light wind collected the chill from the river, and shivering, Charlotte gathered her trench coat around her neck. Heavy mist covered the pool below, rising to the lookout in the distance. The tallest trees poked through the swirling whiteness, peppering it with strange shapes.
She’d stood here for a while—since what passed for dawn. This spot beside the top of the waterfall still called her. And rather than the trek down difficult terrain then up a long and tricky set of broken steps, Charlotte had discovered a new path home.
Earlier this year she’d had a scare at this spot and ran away along the river as it rushed to the falls. She’d not known where it led
