The snow came harder, and gusts of wind snatched up powder from yesterday’s storm, swirled it into little eddies, whipped it around her ankles. She imagined the flurries were like white monster claws, grabbing for her legs, threatening to pull her down.

She reached the edge of the trees and almost sobbed in relief. They opened onto a granite face that sloped upward, curving toward the summit like a giant upside-down bowl of stone. She’d slipped on granite many times. It would not be easy to get across, especially while her hip hurt so badly and snow was swirling everywhere.

The land transitioned from snow-covered forest to stark stone in the space of a single step. Up here, away from the trees, the wind whipped even harder. A fold of cloak separated from the rest and hung out of the basket, flapping against her back, but she was too scared to slow down even the smallest bit to shove it back in place.

The slope grew steep, and she used a hand to steady herself. Her toes kept slipping, losing their purchase on the rock face. Her hip screamed in agony. The snow fell harder. Between that and the wind tears, she couldn’t see where she was going. Just up, up, up, keep going up, don’t stop no matter what, no matter what.

Before her mind could register that she had crested some kind of rise, her momentum carried her right over and suddenly she was grappling, scraping knees, sliding faster and faster.

Her fingertips found a tiny ledge; it was just enough to slow her descent and pivot her around, but the weight of her legs was too much and her fingers slipped away, leaving some skin behind.

She plummeted, picking up speed like water through a chute, and just as she was thinking, Sorry, Mamá, I tried not to die, her feet impacted ground with a bone-numbing force that shivered up her spine and gave her neck a crack. She collapsed to her knees. The basket spilled to the ground beside her, but by some miracle, nothing fell out.

The girl was in a ravine. No, more like a granite crevice. The wind didn’t blow so hard here, and the ground felt squishy, filled with an accumulation of dirt and gravel and pine needles and even a bit of snow. The squishy ground had saved her life.

Her first attempt to gain her feet failed; her hip was locking up, and sharp pain in her neck made it hard to move her head.

But ahead, up the slope of the crevice, was a dark spot where the walls of granite closed in. A cave maybe, or at least a depression, that would protect her from the falling snow and from prying eyes. A hiding place. A safe place.

She used her good leg as much as possible to gain her feet. Her cheeks were icy with tears and her heart was like a rug beater against her throat as she pushed forward, toward the inviting murk.