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Weekly Contest #77
Natalia looked out into the grey-Dr.-Zhivago dawn and squinted through the angry snow, trying to find that invisible white circle formerly known as the sun. She scanned the horizon above the frozen lake, but the frenetic flakes assaulted her eyes so furiously that she was barely able to open them. She quickly wiped them on the sleeve of the itchiest Irish fisherman sweater known to man, and ran back into the cabin, slamming the door behind her. “That good, huh?” Dean asked as he watched her stomp the snow off her boots, an involuntary shiver...
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