It was late when Grandfather came for her; so late that it could only rightly be called early. It would have been dark outside, except the moonlight reflected on the snow and gave the whole night a cold blue glow. He lifted her out of her bed and set her on her feet, pushing her arms into the sleeves of an old, musky fur coat before she was truly awake. She grumbled weakly as she was led down the stairs, but Grandfather wasn’t feeling indulgent:
‘The Winter Wolves are coming,’ he said, urgently.
And that was that.
A brief stumble down the stairs, and then Grandfather had carried her outside. The air bit into her lungs as she breathed: it ate the sleep in her eyes and the air in every breath she took, and it made her want to pee. It had snowed whilst she was asleep, and that combined with the rude awakening made her feel that she had awoken into some strange new world. The trees were no longer green, instead dark shadows tipped with cold white snow. The world was made anew in a strange monochrome, where the brightest white was tinged with blue and the darkest shadow couldn’t manage more than a deep grey.
Grandfather pushed her out into the snow. He had thrown his own fur coat quickly over his habitual slippers and cardigan, in too much of a hurry to dress properly for the cold. If Mother had been there, she would have been Disappointed With Grandfather. But Mother wasn’t here any more, and so she lived with Grandfather. And she couldn’t well be Disappointed With Grandfather. Especially not now the Winter Wolves were coming.
The snow was still falling, thick white flakes coating her as she ran.
There was a howl from behind her.
‘Blossom,’ said Grandfather urgently. ‘Run!’