The Long Cold Dark

In the dark, the falling snow outside looked like ash. The flurries that spun around the ruddy polluted glass of the oil lamps became the warm colors of a shattered rainbow. They didn't have the inner brilliance of fireflies or the sinister playfulness of will 'o the wisps but instead were like mini-moons briefly reflecting the light of man.

Mary appreciated their addition to the stark bleakness of the frozen lands beyond her window. It was deep into the wee hours of the morning and the rest of her team were long asleep. Pressing her hand to the cold hardness of the window pane, she held it there until the discomfort became too great and then touched her cheeks, cooling them.

“Hot?” James's voice murmured from behind her.

She didn't jump but instead leaned back to look over her shoulder. James stood only a few feet away still dressed in his thermal underwear and that ridiculous stocking cap that drooped down over his shoulder.

"You're up early." Mary noted.

"And you're up late, I think." James replied.