The sky was not grey.
The wind bit and shook them like a wolf’s jaws, air tearing against and around their bodies, exposing flesh to the frigid air.
It’s not supposed to be this cold yet. There’s not even a cloud in the sky for this wind to carry.
Frozen in crystal, the clear sky held no barrier or courier for the tempest of winter wind. From the north it came: one continuous rebound of wind thrashing against the cold mountains, only to deliver their frost back to the more southerly climes. Caught in the whirling of winds, Ditzy nonetheless pressed forward, her daughter shivering as she lay on her back. Two distant figures stood at the crest of the next hill and the backdrop of the mountains, speaking of things lost in the curves of the landscape and the crashing wind.
Dinky shivered at the touch of cold, and Ditzy slid her off to hold her close.
“Sshh, don’t worry now. We’ll stop and make a fire soon. It won’t be much longer.”
They walked on, under the infinite sky, and Ditzy stared at the grey mass of the mountains, wondering and afraid.