Life would never be easy. The pull of the wild had brought her here, and her man had died from its harsh intoxication. Now she survived alone, awaiting the strike of each season and the challenges it brought.

The east wind smelled of salt during rain and onset of hypnotic green. The south wind was a hot breath of long, sunny days and bright starlit nights, when hardship could be briefly forgotten. The west wind reminded her it was not to last, and the bonfires of summer transitioned into the blazing hues of foliage and a smoking chimney. Only when food was stored, wood was chopped and stacked, did she await the north wind. It was merciless, cold-hearted, and always carried an ember of hope.

A trapper wandered annually through her woods, bringing the musky scent of travel and the outdoors. He was as much a beast as any that dwelt in that region, bristling with the fur that was his livelihood. He followed the north wind to her cabin, and for a few nights at least, winter’s chill could not touch them.