It was touching on a theory she had since that first feast. The feasts always seemed to herald some catastrophe. The first earthquake and Karen's murder. It was difficult not to look at those feasts or gifts as anything but placation. "I wouldn't trust them if they did bring us something to sleep through winter. I wouldn't know if the village would still be standing at the end of it."

And this coming winter might be better than the last. The hailstorm had left her as isolated and sequestered as the snow had. "We haven't done too poorly from what we've been given." She stared across the expanse of fields, the thought occurring to her as she watched the new calf circled her mother.

"Nearly a year, I think?"