Picket didn't usually wake early. Rarely, in fact. Heather was the early bird. It was cold that had woken him, he realized. He sat up, peering out the window. Snow! He shot up, delighted.
"Heather!" He exclaimed. "Wake up! There's snow!" Heather's eyes opened, and she rubbed at them.
"Huh?"
"There's snow!"
"You woke me up because of snow?" Heather asked, annoyed. She yawned. "Father said there'd be some yesterday when we were learning about meteorology." She turned over. "There's more blankets in the closet if your cold." She pulled the covers over her head and was asleep again in a minute.
How isn't she excited? Picket wondered. Ever since Heather had turned twelve, she'd been acting strange. Well, not necessarily strange, but definitely different. She was moodier than she used to be, and blushed more. Father said it was a sign of growing up. Picket thought it was stupid if it stopped her from having a decent adventure every once in a while. His thoughts returned to the white world outside. I can go over to Mr. Elric's and ask if Liam wants to come and see seven mounds again….. He thought. He's never seen it when it's winter.
Liam, Elric's grandnephew, had only just moved to the Hollow that summer, and was still adjusting to country life. He said he came from a place called Nettleperch. He was alright, a little too careful and nervous, but Picket thought that maybe the mounds would finally bring out some spirit of excitement within him.
He bolted down the stairs, sliding into the kitchen. He was just about out the door when his mother called-
"Go wake your sister, dear." Picket froze. Oh, come on.
"I already did." He tried.
"Well, I don't see here with you, so you'd best go try again." Picket groaned, but slowly climbed the stairs.
"Heather!" He shouted into there room. "Mother says you have to get up!" Heather sat up, shot a glare at him, and then shut the door in his face. "Good morning to you too!" And he stomped down the stairs.
.
.
.
"Why's Heather so weird?" He asked, leaning against the table and chewing on a bit of dried apple. Mother laughed.
"Fraid' that's just the way it might seem, Picket dear."
"Why?"
"Mm. Does think a little differently, feel a little bit different. Not bad, just different. It's a part of growing up."
"Well, it's weird." Mother laughed again.
"Change is a part of life, Picket. You'll understand better someday, but right now you'll have to cut your sister a break." She turned towards the stairwell. "Heather, I told you to get up!" She turned back to Picket, smiling, "It's like how the seasons change. Life changes the same way, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Sometimes it's neither. Heather's winter will melt, and spring will come." Picket nodded, not quite understanding but not all that willing to question it either. He was much more interested in the cinnamon rolls his mother was pulling out of the oven.