Corbin

Over the following days, I couldn't help but notice a definite change in Winter. Where once she had been the heart of our little family – bright-eyed and bubbly, spreading joy wherever she went – she was now quiet, often clinging to me in some way, shape or form with a look of unspoken sadness in her eyes. When I asked her what was wrong, however, words failed her just like they did me and her little eyes simply welled with tears. It seemed, even to the most distant of observers, as though the spark in her eyes had died along with our Mother.

The only time I would see glimpses of the real Winter was when I would sit with her in the rocking chair and sing to her at night. In those fleeting moments, her heart seemed to find remnants of peace and as she lay pressed to my chest a small smile would creep across her face. Sometimes she would even hum along while playing with my fingers, tugging and bending them absentmindedly as my voice filled the house.

The truth was, our lives were turned upside down by the loss of our Mother. Routine went out of the window and for many days I didn't go on my paper round or even leave the house. My priority was Winter, of course, but I struggled to pull myself together even for her. Whether she could tell I was drowning in a sea of struggles or not, I don't know but it wasn't until the end of the next week (almost thirteen days after Mother's passing) that I received my first wake up call.

I was laying on Mother's bed early one morning, a tightness in my chest as I fought back tears, memories creeping tauntingly into my head.

"Yosha," Winter called, crawling up onto the bed beside me.

A few moments passed.

"Yoshaaaa," she called me again, leaning over me, blonde hair cascading past her shoulders and onto me, her hands resting on my ribs.

Another few moments passed, my mind drifting between questions.

"YOSHA!" Winter's tone turned impatient, her little arms shaking me.

"I-I'm sorry little Cub, I was wandering aimlessly in my thoughts for a moment there," I sat up, my movements inadvertently pushing her backwards so that she sat on my legs, "Is something wrong?"

"I'm hungry," her eyes turned sad, her voice soft.

"Hey, it's okay, I'll make us something to eat," I reached up and gently brushed her hair off her face and behind her ear.

"We don't have anything," Winter's voice was barely audible.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my brow furrowing, "Of course we do."

She shook her head side to side, a tear making tracks down her cheek, "All the food Mama got us is gone."

Panic gripped my heart. Of course the food Mother had bought for us had run out. With just the two of us eating – and I was only eating one meal per day if that – it had gone down a little slower but it hadn't started to magically replenish itself and I hadn't left the house to get more. My heart racing, I pulled myself to my feet and crossed to the fireplace. On the ledge above it sat Mother's purse. It felt so wrong to take money without her permission but there wasn't a whole lot I could do about that now. I picked the purse up and slipped it into my trouser pocket.

"Come on little Cub," I turned to where Winter sat in anticipation at the foot of the bed, "it seems we need to take a trip to the village market."

She dashed to my side, grabbing my hand with her tiny one as I led her out the door and down the road.

"Yosha?" Winter's voice quipped after a moment or two, her head tilting up to me.

"Yes?"

"Don't you think I should have changed out of my nightgown first?"