Then winter arrived early, as if the mountain had been watching them argue and decided to throw in its own opinion. Thin flakes turned into heavy snow. Trees bowed under white weight. The cabin became a small island of smoke and fire in a world that wanted to freeze everything into silence.
Jonah doubled his hunts, hauling back rabbits, elk, whatever he could trap. Abby salted meat, dried strips by the hearth, and stacked jars and sacks against the wall. Their movements turned rhythmic, like a shared language neither of them had to admit they were speaking.
When the blizzard came, it came like a beast. Wind hurled snow at the cabin walls so hard the shutters rattled and the roof groaned. For three days they were sealed in, the door buried behind a drift taller than Abby. By the second day, the food looked thinner than it should have, not because Jonah hadn’t prepared, but because winter always demanded more than you planned for.
That night, Abby made a broth so light it barely had color. She filled Jonah’s bowl a little more than her own and tried to act like it meant nothing. Jonah noticed. His spoon paused midair. “You didn’t take your share,” he said.
Abby shrugged, blowing steam off her bowl. “I don’t need much,” she lied. “Besides, you burn more. You swing axes. You fight wolves.” Jonah’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t starve yourself,” he said. Abby’s
