The night grew long; and in the warm glow of the hearth and her golden-squash lanterns, Tena carved smooth plump beads from thunderoak with sure, patient strokes of a tiny blade.

A good night to stay inside and carve, this.

Outside, the snow hissed around the cottage walls like an angry snake, punctuated by the crash of another sharp icicle breaking free of the eaves.

But inside was warm, and comforting; and Tena was content to carve and while away the storm.

🐈 go back ~!