I gasped.
A thin dusting of white blanketed the earth.
“Get yersel’back tae bed, lass. Yer gawn tae freeze oot here,” Uncle Callum snapped.
Instead, I tipped my head back and spun once, letting the flakes kiss my skin.
They melted instantly against the warmth of my cheeks.
“It’s snowing?” I whispered, lifting both hands as if I could catch the whole sky.
“Aye. Happens every year. Noo get inside, ye daftie.” His tone softened with a weary smile.
I was about to obey when something shifted in the corner of my eye.
A black shadow—low, swift, unnatural.
My breath caught, but Uncle’s nudge broke my focus and pushed me toward the croft.
“What was that awful sound?” I asked as he bolted the door behind us.
“Ah dinnae ken,” he muttered, scratching his head.“Probably a pack o’stray dogs.”
I stared past him toward the tiny window, the darkness pressing against the glass.
We both knew dogs didn’t howl like that.
A shiver ran up my spine, forcing me to rub my arms.
“Ah telt ye—get tae bed before ye freeze. I’ll stoke a wee fire,” Uncle Callum said.
I nodded. The wee ones would need warmth come morning.
Something pulsed low in my belly as I turned away.
An ache—deep, insistent—pulling me toward the window.
I almost went to it.
But Uncle arched an eyebrow and tapped his foot, and pride wouldn’t let me seem foolish. I shook my head at him and slipped into the shared room, checking on the weans before crawling beneath my blanket.
What a strange night.
Yet even as I lay still, eyes closed, something inside me stirred.
Not pain.
Need.
A need I did not understand.
? ? ?
“Aw, naw,” my uncle muttered before charging up the garden path.
I hurried after him—then stopped dead.
Arthur was standing beside the shattered window, hands wringing, eyes wide. The wooden frame looked as though someone had ripped it apart with their bare hands. Glass glittered across the snow, the shards spread far and wide.
