Birchwood Path

The following morning was bathed in light-colored light. The hurricane was over, and the sky was clear as to make sightseeing intolerable. Frost hung on the branches of the trees and whiteened them all the way through. The river behind them was motionless and lifeless now, and frozen. The music of their passage had disappeared.

Annabelle sat on the verge of the camp looking out to sea. The smoke was rising in a thin line long way away in the direction where the forest got thick ...