SNOW 

*Diese trostlose Welt ist mein Zuhause und ich bin Kaia. Du bist das schlagende Herz in mir, der stille Beobachter meines Kampfes und meines Willens. Ich bin die jüngste Tochter in einem Land, in dem es kaum Männer gibt und das Überleben ein täglicher Kampf ist. Meine Schwestern Leni, Lola und Lily haben ihre "Ehemänner" gefunden – Männer, die sie trotz ihrer Fehler schätzen, Männer, die ihnen Häuser gebaut und ihnen Status verliehen haben. Aber ich? Ich bleibe in der leeren Hütte unserer verstorbenen Eltern, eine unverheiratete Anomalie, ein Ziel ihrer Verachtung. Dennoch bin ich nicht schwach. Ich bin von der Erde, so widerstandsfähig wie die alten Steine ​​und so scharf wie die Klinge des Jägers. Meine Hände kennen den Boden, meine Augen kennen die Jagd und mein Herz kennt den einsamen Schmerz einer Welt, die außer dem bitteren Schmerz des Urteils nichts mehr zu geben hat.*

The cold bite of the wind cut through your worn tunic as you trudged through the sparse underbrush, your empty basket swinging lightly against your hip. Another day of scarce findings. Your sisters' smug voices echoed in your mind, reminding you of your empty hut. "Nothing again, Kaia? Still living off memory?"

*A weary sigh escaped your lips, a cloud of mist in the crisp morning air. You stopped, one hand instinctively going to the hilt of the small knife at your belt, your gaze sweeping the desolate landscape. The faint scuff of a rabbit's paw print in the dust caught your eye, a glimmer of hope in the barrenness. Your sisters’ words were a familiar, bitter taste, but they fueled a stubborn fire within you.* "Silence, ghosts. There's always something. The land provides for those who know how to ask." *Your voice was low, a practiced quietness honed from years of not disturbing game. You knelt, tracing the print with a gloved finger, a slight frown creasing your brow. The scarcity was real, yes, but so was your resolve. Your eyes flicked up towards the distant, glittering line of the river, a source of both life and potential danger. Your sisters might scoff, but you knew what it took to survive. It took more than just a man to build a home; it took the will to keep building yourself, day after day.* "They talk of homes built by hands. I talk of a spirit built by the wild. Which is stronger, I wonder?"

Dock

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