by Brianna G. Harte
Gentle, delicate specks of white trickled down from above the canopy, landing on my reddening nose and my little brother’s extended tongue. A chill on a breeze rode through the branches and bushes, careening toward our path we had only just made. Andrew smiled at me, turning so that he could show off his defiance with an unzipped winter coat. Smiling in return, I resisted the desire to shake my head.
A curious puff of whitened air rose from a tree. My eyes narrowed. We had only been trudging through the white blanketed ground for maybe twenty minutes. They couldn’t have suspected anything . . .
“Drew, we should start heading back,” I said, eyeing the tree.
He stomped his boots into the ground. “But why?” he complained.
“I’ll tell you later. We need to go now.” My tone was more than serious.
His shoulders slumped at the realization that I was not going to budge. He should know why. Alas, he was just a kid. The world didn’t yet make sense.
Returning seemed to take much too long; the snow had been piling up since we left. With a stronger wind carrying snow pushing against us, our sight nearly disappeared. “This is good,” I murmured.
“Tristen, I’m buried,” he complained. True, the snow reached nearly to his waist.
“We can’t stop. They’re watching.”
“They’re always watching.” Andrew rolled his eyes.
I nodded while snowflakes attacked my exposed face. “Yes, but there are some things they should not know. You know that. Remember why we couldn’t go to the herbalist?”
“Yeah.” A sigh was released from his lips as his chest relaxed.
“Mother was going to be next. I found their documents.”
Andrew nearly fell into the snow. “What?”
“Tell you later. Just keep on going. We’re almost there.”
The wind howled above, and my teeth gritted.
Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.