The strong handed man crashes down on the slices of lumber, cracking as the axe splits it in two. Divided into pieces now, the man stores the lumber into a large pouch that normally hangs behind his shoulder. A few more piece of lumber before it will be enough for the cold winter. The snow had not settled yet but was sticking, boots would crunch against it leaving a damp spot of dead grass, snow melted on the soul of the shoe. The twigs didn't hang heavy but stood out sickly and frozen as the tall evergreen stayed warm with there everlasting needles bunched up like live stock in the winter. No standing sun stood in the sky but hid behind the winter storm clouds, bright grey leaving the air gloomy and cold. Barley any snow fell but some how, every snow flake that fell onto the man beard stuck and froze.
It was odd when he smelled smoke, he had smelt it an hour earlier and could feel the smoke drift among the bitter wind, but nearly took it as an out of control campfire a few miles out. It was odd when he could see more smoke rise above the trees that drifted north, and based on the thick dark cloud that stood in the sky, it was no campfire, but a forest fire a few miles away from him, giving him provoked nervousness thinking he should warn someone.
Packing up his axe and lasting pieces of wood, he notice how quiet his head had felt, as if his body had drifted away from his own thought, a body in motion but no words telling him to hurry up because the air was getting colder.
A noise spikes the air, jumping him out of his slumbered state. Turning his head around like a deer, he had to look twice to see something scarier than a wolf or bear. A child, standing a few feet away from him, gripping her arms, slowly shivering.
Her face and body had soot all over, black charcoal standing out from her pale and frozen face. She had only a winter dress on, thin and maroon, that hung on her body, fur seaming around the bottom of it. She had snow boots but seemed scorched from fire but not enough to melt the boots or her feet. No gloves though, so her hand were nearly purple and gripping her arms cold.
A face with doe eyes and heavy brown hair in braid, torn from whatever she had escaped.
It wasn't only frightening that a child was lying right in front of him, but that her face had nearly no expression, no trauma in her eyes or bitten lips of fear. Instead, she looked confused, amused almost. Watching him like a dog, a predator watching its prey.
"êtes-vous ok chéri?"
No awnser, so he tries another language that is used South. "Are you ok darling?"
Still no awnser, so he knelt and put his hand out, trying to get the little girl to a safe spot. She stepped once and then stops, hesitate but stepped again, again, and finally reached for the hand of the man.
He silently relaxed knowing the girl is ok and notices a necklace hanging, a small gold chain with a flat circle with symbols engraved in it. Антуанетта
Symbols he had never seen but he only seemed to care about the girl, teeth quietly chattering. He grabs a small blanket from his pack and wraps it around the young her. Pick her up as well as his stuff and head back to the lodge.
Pretty girl he thought and watched as she stared at nothing but what was in front of them. Like his own children, he wanted to protect her and his mind was nothing but happy memories of them as they walk closer home, almost as if the memories had been given by her.