GENRE: YA Speculative Fiction
I count the flakes, trying to discern between white and gray, ice and snow. I long for the warmth of the sun that has yet to wake the new day. The frigid bite of the cold enters my bones. The knots on my skyn as I loop, ring, pull, loop, ring, pull tug at something deep within. When I get to the end, I untie loosen, pull, release and start again. The cloud of my breath is as close as the northern air enveloping me. Far off on the frozen icefield, I yearn for the warmth of my mother and sisters as I wait for my father to return and accompany him home.
The horizon is a thin line bumped with silver, illuminating the Nouluiv—the northland. This is where creation begins, on the blank canvas of ice, the wind whispering life into being. The pale dawn kisses my cheeks awake; cozy in our home, my mother does the same to my little sisters. "Rise and shine my little dream makers. Let sleep keep the moon until the sun sets." Her voice echoes in recent memory as she eases us to waking, warming water and our furs as she keeps the fire stoked. Now I'm of age to set out onto the ice alone, and today I'll be the first one to greet my father.
The wind whistles shrilly, whipping up snow like dust, my only company on the lonely white plain...