Cricket Creek Bog thank you for your message but I don’t understand these, wont understand these things

Weejay had come to hate the cold. For a girl whose heart was perpetually sunny, an iciness had crept in; she had no fondness for this thing called "winter". It stripped bare the canopy of her beloved trees, razed and raped the spoils of her crops -- and the frost, that insidious secondary cousin -- was harbinger of cruelty in her eyes. 

Not even the fresh snow, prettily laid across the bog like a clean linen blanket, could invoke feelings of love or awe in the girl. The only positive she saw of snow, was that it made tracks painfully obvious. There were two tracks in the snow today -- the first set belonging to a hare, and the second her own. She followed with no real hope of killing it, for she was yet to be a good hunter -- but maybe she could find its warren, and let Wraen and the other adults know food was nearby.