The winds were blowing colder and the sun set faster, with day giving way to evening that much easier. Winter was, indeed, approaching. Mara was helping her mother out in the gardens, surprised that her plants were still alive. Most of the leaves had turned brown and orange when autumn came, but their herbs, vegetables and flowers always seemed to flourish under her mother’s touch. Lucinda Hastings was humming to herself as she picked all of the ingredients she wanted from the growing pile of snow. Mara was certain that by nightfall, the ground would be completely covered in white. Her father had also gone off into the woods to collect lumber for their fire, leaving the two women to themselves. It was eerily silent, seeing as their cottage was situated in the middle of a clearing, deep within the mountains. Mara wasn’t sure where the nearest village was, but ever since she was young, they’d always lived far away from everyone else. They also moved around a lot. Mara had gotten us
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