Rowan - Little Red (cloakednscarlet) wrote in into_the_woods, @ 2013-03-18 13:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | little red riding hood, three sillies - daughter |
Snowflakes On Your Tongue [tag: Buttons]
It was snowing.
Rowan didn't necessarily hate snow. It was a fact of life, of nature, and something that could be counted on happening during the colder months. Besides, she knew from talking to her farmer neighbors that a winter with a decent amount of snow meant that the soil had a nice base for crops come spring. Which would mean a better harvest later in the year and less of a chance that the local people would starve the following winter. So she understood snow and its necessity.
However, she didn't particularly love it either. Even given the unfortunate affair involving the wolf, her mother still seemed to think it was appropriate to send her on errands on her own. Rowan didn't mind that so much, it got her out of the house and into the fresh air -and there was something incredibly crisp and clean about winter air. There was also something peaceful about the crunching of the snow under the soles of her boots and the overall quiet around her.
The downside to the snow, which was falling hard enough she could practically hear it meeting the snowpack around her as she moved toward the village, was that it made finding your way a bit of a challenge. Even as she turned around, her tracks were disappearing. This was partly due to her bright red cloak dragging in the snow behind her and partly because it was snowing hard enough to start filling them. Large, fat, fluffy snowflakes.
Pausing, with her basket slung over her forearm, she took a deep breath and tried to judge how much farther it was. The home she shared with her mother wasn't all that far off from the village proper, but it was enough of a jaunt in the winter that Rowan wasn't fond of having to make the journey while it was snowing. It made everything seem farther away that it was. But, her mother wouldn't have sent her if it hadn't been urgent.
It had snowed much of the past few days and their stock of candles had gone way down. They had made do by melting down the drippings in a small pot and using a bit of twine as a wick, but it didn't work quite as well as fresh candles would. So Rowan's mother sent her off, with a basket of wax drippings and a pouch of coin, to the chandler's shop in town and to return with as many candles as she could buy. It was winter. There was no knowing from one day to the next if a storm would barricade them inside their home and make venturing into the village for supplies impossible.
It was hard enough some days, in the drifts, to be sure she could get out to feed and milk their single cow. At least their neighbor was kind enough to deliver some of their eggs every few days, as weather allowed.
Rowan closed her eyes, tipped her head back and stuck out her tongue to catch a few snowflakes. If she was going to be out in the snow, she might as well enjoy it.