[15-20: A lost mitten]

The winter seemed to drag on forever. The snow lasted almost four weeks, mixed just often enough with rain to cover everything in sheets of ice and slush, and kept the cold feeling bone chillingly deep.

Uncle Ram looked old so suddenly. It was as if the winter had sucked the life out of him, though Meera knew better and figured it was his powerlessness to heal Sama that did the worst. He still kept on about most of his usual routine, but the times sitting in the drawing room, looking stern and stoic while reading or working on pieces of old armaments had largely been traded for standing in the kitchen as if he’d forgotten whether he was about to make or had just finished a snack, or hiding in his bedroom, presumably reading.

His temper had faded, replaced by an eerie listlessness. Meera’s comings and goings didn’t raise an eyebrow nor a voice. 

---

A morning in late march, with rain in big drops blowing sideways and leaving unevenly melted drifts of spring snow, Meera trekked across the moor again, up over the crest of the hill. It didn’t seem quite as far as it had that first time, and though it was a shortcut compared to following the roads, it still took the better part of an hour.

The sheep were penned in near the little cottage already. She figured Dick must be headed into town to visit his family today, so he’d put them up early. He was oddly predictable, she realized. Spontaneous humor, but always doing what needed to be done just so. Smoke trailed out of the chimney, and she thought she smelled mutton stew.

She banged on the door out of habit, though Dick had told her just to come in on more than one occasion. 

“Be right there, mum!” Dick’s muffled voice came through the thick door.

The door opened a moment later, and Dick looked a little surprised. “Well then. Guess you’re not my mum.” 

“Not last I checked, you know.” Meera said.

“Best check again, I was expecting her.” Dick laughed.