Page 129 of Gunnar

I shift, pulling my jacket tighter as the wind cuts across the clearing. The edge of the page lifts again, flicking against my fingers.

I flatten it, then pause.

Another gust comes through, colder this time, slipping under my collar.

A white speck lands on the page.

I blink at it.

Another. Then another.

Snow.

I close the book, brushing it off as I stand. “Okay,” I mutter.

So much for that.

I shove it back into my bag and swing it over my shoulder.

The flakes are coming faster now, catching in my hair, stinging against my skin when the wind shifts.

I turn back toward the trail.

The trees close in almost immediately, the light dropping as the snow starts to settle. I pick up my pace, wiping at my face, ducking under a low branch without slowing.

The path’s still there, but softer now. Edges blurring.

I keep moving.

A bend. A stretch of uneven ground. A narrow fork.

Then another.

I slow slightly, glance between them—left, right⁠—

Right.

Keep going.

The snow’s settling faster now, catching on everything. The ground looks different. Flatter. Less defined.

A few minutes later, the ground drops.

I stop hard.

There’s a ravine in front of me, cutting clean across the forest floor.

I stare at it.

That definitely wasn’t there before.

“Right,” I mutter.

I turn back the way I came⁠—

And stop.

Because all I can see is snow.