The shudders of the house shake, a whistling wind passing by. She blinks her eyes as it quiets down again. A cold storm is due this time of year.
She closes her eyes, listening to the howls of the wind.
Her eyes open. The light peaks through the windows, “Florence, it’s time to get up.” Her mother stands over her, speaking calmly, “You must get ready or they will leave without you again.”
Florence looks over to the other two in the room; her father still shaking off the last bits of sleepiness while her brother paces about the room gathering the supplies for the morning hunt. She sits up and begins to get ready herself.
Florence rubs her eyes as she walks down the trail, a light dusting of snow spreads over the ground. She collects what is needed from the earth and then makes her way home.
The table is set up with vials and bowls, stems separated from their leaves, and powder spilt in miscellaneous places. Florence sets the new herbs on the table, it won’t be long till the town begins to stir this morning. She reaches up to tie her hair back and pauses- her fingers catch in a knot. Moving towards the mirror she grabs a brush and evaluates the tangles of her hair.
Her mother speaks her name as she slowly combs Florence’s mane, “Oh Florence.” The young girl holds onto her skirt, feeling the comb struggle and pull on her hair. Her mother puts the comb down, “I’m sorry love.” scissors replace the comb and Florence sniffles as she closes her eyes.
Florence stares into the mirror, a smile across her face as she sets the scissors down. Her hand traces her shoulders, up the neck and finally towards her shortened hair. “Oh Florence” she whispers.