Stone Circle Sweater weather

She carves a tired path in the glade around the stones. Monotonous. Repeating. She’d been spreading herself everywhere, as if just an ounce more diligence would solve everything.

She ached for Gunnar’s family. When she dreamed it was for freedom and that guilt sawed at her. Dreams were not bargains, she knew they settled nothing.

She’d been rounding a nineteenth time when the storm grew in earnest, and a twentieth when the wolf scent rose raw and wild to her senses. The winds were scouring but she found the lone girl drowned and sniveling along their cusp.

She could be sick. She should be turned away. Too many mouths.

“What are you doing out here?” The Nornir calls instead, the storm eating her breath.