Night of the Northern Lights
It would be the darkest and coldest night when 7-year-old Synneva sat in front of the fireplace. The firewood crackled as embers danced about, painting the right side of Synneva’s face in a warm glow. She craned her head to look into the archway that lead to the kitchen. From where she was, she could peek an arm moving around. Her mamma and grandfather’s voices mingled with the sound of chopping and bubbling water. She quickly pulled on her gloves. Though she despised not being able to feel what she touched, she didn’t want the cold to bite into her slender fingers. With practiced movements, she tiptoed towards the front door and carefully opened it. Just enough for her body to squeeze in so the winter wind would not have a chance to slither into the house. ...