By three in the afternoon, the temperature had dropped ten degrees.
The mountain shadows stretched long and dark across the driveway.
Sarah loaded split birch logs into the wooden sled, her boots sinking into the dry snow.
The family dogs barked near the fence, their breath rising like small clouds of steam.
Trig held onto Sarah’s sleeve as a truck rumbled past on the road.
His eyes were fixed on the blue snowmachine trailer tilted near the shed.
“When is Dad fixing the trailer?” Trig asked.
