They huddled close around a small iron brazier, its flame crackling over splintered kindling salvaged from last autumn’s pruning. Candlelight thinned and trembled, sending the walls of the cottage dancing into monstrous relief. Outside, a thunderous gale shredded the flimsy shutters, rattling every pane of glass, while the first furious swirls of the blizzard clawed at the door.

Marcus drew his coat tight, the thick wool biting at his chin as he tugged on gloves and scarf. His boots crunched on the icy threshold, earmuffs sealing the storm’s roar. Every breath felt like shards of glass, yet their stores of wood, candles and food had frozen to ruin. He glanced back at the pale faces pressed against the window’s frost, eyes wide in equal measures of hope and dread.

With a last nod, he stepped into the white tempest, each footfall swallowed by drift. The wind snatched words from his lips, but he didn’t look back as the door slammed behind him.

“Be careful out there.”