Fat, white flakes were falling gently from the pre-dawn sky as Tatya arose, the small bits of white looking like the goose down that sometimes leaked from the fine mattress upon which her step mother and step sister slept. For long moments, the young woman stood by the window, shivering in the cold as she watched them fall outside the small cabin, transforming the weed-choked yard into a fairyland, before turning to tend to stirring up the banked embers of the fire. Soon enough, she knew, the other two women would be up.
By the time Mother Agna and Sonti had arisen, the dancing flames had spread warmth through the cabin. Water was boiling in the kettle hung over the flames, and Tatya was just stepping in from the yard with the eggs she had collected from the three hens that were all they had left.
"Lazy little slut," snapped Mother Agna. "You don't even have breakfast started? If your good for nothing father were still alive, I'd see to it he tanned your hide. Get to work."
Ducking her head so as not to see Sonti's malicious grin, Tatya set about preparing breakfast. There were eggs for Mother Agna and Sonti, and thin gruel for her. Ever since the death of her father, his second wife and her daughter had seen to it that Tatya had less to eat than they. However little they might have in the world, it seemed their mission that Tatya have less.
After breakfast, Tatya was sent out with a buffet and a kick to fetch firewood from the remnants of the pile, and she knew this was the last of their store. The wind whipped at her tattered dress, and seemed intent on freeing her long, golden hair from the faded kerchief she'd worn to tie it back. Scrounging what she could, she was about to re-enter the cabin, when the petulant voice of Sonti drifted out. "I don't know what we're supposed to eat. That good for nothing slattern takes up more than her fair share. We'll waste away to nothing this winter, Mama. Or have to dip into the dowry Father Chernov left us, and it's bad enough that I have to share it with her."
Tatya froze, unable to move, a shaking taking over her limbs that had nothing to do with the shivering caused by the frigid air.
"Don't you worry, daughter," came Agna's voice. "I know just what to do. We'll survive this winter, and find you a wealthy merchant's son come spring with the combined dowries."
Tatya had to pause to lean against the cabin's rickety wall for long moments before she could force herself to duck back inside. Her cheeks were aglow from the cold, masking how pale she had gone, as she scuttled over to lay the measly pile of wood in the bin by the fire.
"Girl," came the sharp tone. "Is that all the wood you could carry?"
"No, Mother Agna," Tatya said, voice trembling. "It's all that was left."
"Well, you're just going to have to head out to the forest and collect more. Take that old cart. It's not good for much, and you must pull it yourself as we had to sell the mule. You're not to come back until it's full to the brim, or you'll be spending the next week with the chickens."
Hours later, Tatya had wandered much further from the tiny cabin that was all she knew of as home than she'd ever ventured before. But the deadfall of wood had already been picked clean by the denizens of the collection of huts and cabins that populated the sparser woods on the edges of the great forest. Now she was deep into the woods, and while leafless branches blocked out the sky, they also kept her from the tug of the wind that was blowing down from the north with the first snows of the cold season. The winters in these parts were harsh, often carrying off both the very young, and quite aged into the arms of death.
She couldn't help but remember, as she scrounged for fallen branches, how it used to be when her father had been alive. They'd never been rich, but he was the finest wood smith for miles, and their small cabin had been full of comfortable things. Then, he'd married Mother Agna, a recent widow only to die soon after, carried off by the winter sickness that always swept the area. Unwilling to take in washing or hire out at one of the greater houses, Agna had begun selling off their things, starting with Tatya's belongings first, until the only item of comfort left in the cabin now was the huge bed with its fine mattress, shared by Mother Agna and Sonti alone, though there was plenty of room for one more . It was a thin straw pallet in the corner for Tatya, though, with only a moth-eaten blanket that seemed more hole than wool.
By the time darkness was starting to fall, Tatya had only collected half a cart's worth of wood. She had no food, and only a tiny amount of oil in the old lamp, grudgingly given over by Mother Agna, and a tinder with which to light it. She knew she couldn't return without a full cart, for Mother Agna would make good on her threat, and Tatya knew she'd freeze to death if made to sleep in what passed for a hen coop. She trudged onwards, the forest trail growing narrow and rough, so that it soon became a struggle to pull the old cart over the roots that snaked over the path.
The soft groan that came from ahead jerked Tatya from her own thoughts, snapping her head up, widening her blue eyes as she searched the shadows. Dropping the handles of the cart, she inched forward until a slumped form came into sight, a figure in clothing more ragged than her own.
"My god. Are you alright?" she asked, rushing forward and dropping to her knees. It was a man, but she couldn't really see him under all the rags and tangle of disheveled snow-white hair. Stretching out a hand, she touched his cheek, only to yank it back with a cry of alarm.
"You're cold as ice... wait here." She unfastened her own oft-patched cloak, none too solid itself, and laid it over him, then hurried back to the cart, to gather kindling and some stouter branches from her hard-earned stash. Thinking nothing of the fact that this meant she'd only have to replenish what she was using, she hurried back and knelt down, clearing a patch in the snow to lay the timber and strike a spark. It took some time to coax a small blaze into life, and more time still to build it up into a cheerily dancing fire, but at last she sat back, heat bathing her face and chilled body.
In spite of the welcome warmth, she turned at once to scoot back over to the fallen man, laying a hand upon his shoulder. To her surprise, it wasn't emaciated with hunger, but broad and strong. "You'll be warm soon. Are you hurt?"
Eyes of the coldest blue she'd ever seen gazed back at her, and a raspy voice came from within the tangle of limbs and clothing. "Girl. Why do you do this? I am but a stranger, and I'm sure you need this wood for you and your family."
