The snown storm came upon her quickly. One moment the clouds had been thin fluffy things, the next a coverlet of grey stretched across her horizons.

There had been no warning. The first few flakes had not danced merrily down from the sky to settle on the ground, they had instead been as sudden as a summer rainstorm, thick heavy flakes whipped by the wind to whirl around her. It was only her intimate familiarity with her father's land that stopped her from getting completely turned about.

Elizabeth knew that she was at least an hour's walk from home at a good pace. In the snowstorm, when the danger of becoming confused and lost was considerable, she was unsure if continuing was worth the risk. She glanced over her shoulder at the way she had come from. The Kirkwood farm was closer. Not by much, but it would offer her shelter sooner than Longbourn.

Mr Kirkwood, however, was not someone who Elizabeth wished to be in close quarters with. He was not inherently dangerous, he posed no immediate threat to her. Her father would not allow such a man to live on his land. But. But Mr Kirkwood was a widower, and he was bitter and lonely. Elizabeth had never relished her visits to the Kirkwood home and would very much like to give them up altogether, except that her sense of duty demanded she treated all her family's tenants with civility. Mr Kirkwood had no family but his son, and Elizabeth would be risking much to remain within his home unchaperoned.

She shrugged to herself. She did not wish to seek shelter at the Kirkwood farm and so she would not. But what to do? The snow, in the few minutes she had spent deliberating, showed no signs of lessening.

Elizabeth took her bearings once more. She had come across the fields away from the rest of the tenant's property. She was close by two field lengths, to the stream and the small copse of trees that marked the easternmost point of Longbourn's land. That decided her, and she turned towards the copse. The trees would offer some protection from the falling snow, and down in the middle of the trees where the stream diverted, was a shelf of rock eroded by the stream. The overhang went back at least six feet and would offer her some shelter from the elements. At least until the snow had halted so she could return to her family.

It took her longer than she expected to walk to the clump of trees. The swirling snow distracted her, and she found it difficult to keep her attention fixed on the horizon and the shadows that were the trees she was aiming for. The light was fading faster than she had expected it to for so early in the day, and worry started to worm away at her stomach along with hunger.

She could survive without a meal. Although it had been some time since her mother had sent her to her room without supper, it had happened more than once in her younger days. In her pocket wrapped in a piece of cloth was a heel of bread and a small chunk of cheese pressed upon her by the Moselys when she had paid her visit to them, so she would not be without food completely.

She finally reached the copse, and Elizabeth moved within the shelter of the trees. The branches disrupted the snowfall more, and she was able to walk towards her goal with more ease than out in the unsheltered fields.

As she passed under the trees, she looked for sticks and gathered an armful. Her distraction, however, proved her undoing as the snow had covered the beginning of the ridge she was looking for. The fall was only two feet, but the surprise of it shocked her thoroughly. Elizabeth picked herself up out of the snowbank and laughed at herself. She shook out her skirts and wrapped her cloak around her tighter, glad that she had seen sense and donned the heavier garment instead of her pessile that morning as she had headed out.

Regathering up her armful of sticks she cast her eyes to the ground in front of her and carefully made her way along the edge of the stream as the ridge rose on her left. The stream curved around the bend and away revealing her target. Time and flowing water had cut out the space in the rock before the stream had diverted leaving the overhang behind. The hollow was three feet from the ground necessitating Elizabeth to climb up into it, but she would at least be out of the weather. The space under the overhang was only some four-foot-high, not enough for her to stand upright but bent over she was able to move about. The depression went back six feet and was about that wide, the floor was made up of rock and sandy soil. It was a small hideaway, but she was glad of it. Laying down her bundle she sat on her haunches and briskly rubbed her gloved hands together to return the feeling to her fingers.

Once she could feel them, she stripped the bonnet from her head and shook free all the snow. The last thing she wanted was for the snow to melt and seep through to soak her head. Tying the bonnet back on, she removed her cloak and shook at the snow from it also, making sure she emptied the hood as well as she could. Then she donned the garment again drawing the hood up and over her bonnet before she grew too chilled, hoping it would help keep her warm.

Elizabeth had never started a fire before. She had seen John Lucas do it and had watched John teach his brother Thomas, but she had never tried it herself. She was not so simple to think it would be easy, but a fire, if she could start one would help keep her warm. If the snow stopped and her father sent someone out to look for her, the light of the fire might help them find her.

She had her pocketknife with her, the blade was no more than two or three inches long, and she used it primarily on her walks to cut flowers and the occasional bramble. The blade was housed in the tortoiseshell handle and folded smoothly out. At the bottom of her pocket, Elizabeth found the lump of quartz she carried.

When John Lucas had shown Thomas how to start a fire with a knife and quartz, Elizabeth had asked him to find her a piece of quartz she could keep. John had expressed his surprise and questioned her as to why. Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth had not been quite as bold as Lydia was at that age, but she had pertly answered that she would keep the quartz so that she too could start a fire should she need one. John, while willingly finding her a piece of quartz from the riverbed had teased that she would forget, and the rock would end up a pretty ornament on her vanity. That had made her more determined to keep it with her, and here she was, having carried the same stone in her pockets for four years, about to put into practice those lessons she had witnessed all those years ago.

The knife made short work of peeling and shredding the inner bark of the thin twigs she had found. Crouching as low as she could, Elizabeth experimentally struck the stone on her knife trying to recall everything John had shown Thomas,

Trial and error, and the knowledge that it was possible kept her going until she found the angle where a spark jumped to the tinder she had made. Delighted she tried again, and again, and again, to create a spark that did more than create black spots on her tinder before dying.

Elizabeth had no idea how long she stayed at her task but eventually, a spark struck and caught. She sat up with a wide grin splitting her face. Her back protested at the movement after so long hunched over and she winced at how stiff she had become. Determined not to lose her fire now she had started it she ignored the ache in her back and the one she could feel in her legs for being on her haunches. Gently Elizabeth nursed her fire with small shaved sticks until it caught and burned through the twigs. Realising she hadn't created a circle to keep her fire in she put a larger stick on the flame and stood, taking care to not put her fire out with her skirts.

The stream bed was not yet frozen over even though the snow was still falling heavily. Elizabeth collected up all the stones she could see that were the size of her fist as quickly as she could and retreated under her shelter.

Once the circle was in place, she looked over her collection of sticks. It had become very apparent that she was going to be stuck here. The snow was still coming down, and there was no more shelter to be had between here and Longbourn. The distance to Longbourn was too far to walk in such weather. Her opportunity to return to the safety of the Kirkwoods had passed sometime while she was starting her fire. She was going to be here for the night,

Her pile of sticks was not large enough to keep her fire going all through the night. Elizabeth had not thought she would have been successful in starting the fire in the first place, though determined enough to keep trying, now she had, she required more fuel for it.

Sighing at the necessity of going back out into the snow and knowing that she should remain in her shelter as much as possible she pondered the problem.

The fire would be useless without fuel, and if she could keep it lit, she would warm up from any chill she would be exposed to by collecting wood. As the snow was still falling her supply of fuel was getting wet, so the sooner she went, the better.

As a precaution Elizabeth decided she would only collect wood from the other side of the stream so that she could keep the fire in sight, then she wouldn't lose her sense of direction, and she would know if her fire was going out. Decided, she set off, carefully crossing the stream she scrambled up the bank on the other side and headed into the trees.

Finding sticks was not as easy as she had hoped, the snow was covering the ground thickly despite the shelter offered by the trees. Scuffing her feet through the snow in hopes of uncovering fuel was less successful than she would have liked considering the soaking her hems and shoes were getting. Elizabeth decided to return to her shelter before she had collected as much fuel as she had wanted. If she got too cold and wet, her small fire would be insufficient to dry her and keep her warm.

As she turned back, she noticed that the light from the fire was much dimmer than it had been. Concern flooded her that she might not make it back before the fire died completely, so with more speed than was possibly wise she returned to her shelter. Nursing her dying fire back to health she spread the damp wood around the edges hoping that it would have dried some before she had to use it as fuel. Then she stood crouched by the fire spreading her skirts out as much as she could to dry them and allow the warm air to circulate over her chilled legs and feet.

When she felt slightly less damp, she sat next to the fire, and she realised that her stomach was growling most uncomfortably. Reaching into her pocket once more, she brought forth the bread and cheese. Finding a thin whippy stick from her pile of fuel, she quickly peeled the bark from it, impaled her bread upon the end, and then held it over the fire to toast.

The toasted bread with cheese made her feel better, but with her hunger now not a pressing concern she could not help her mind wander and worry about what might happen to her.

She would be missed, of that she was sure. Jane, her father, Mary, and even Kitty would notice her absence. She felt terrible about causing her family to worry and worse still, knowing that if her absence were not kept from her mother, the house would be in an uproar until she returned. Elizabeth felt surprised by the measure of guilt she felt at that. Her situation was far from ideal, but she was, for now, warm and mostly dry. She was in no danger of being lost in the snow, and luckily her fall earlier had resulted in nothing more than a portion of embarrassment at her clumsiness.

Elizabeth watched the snow fall outside her shelter, the flakes danced and swirled away, finding the rhythm hypnotic. The silence was broken only by the occasional pop of the wood she was burning and the sound of her pulse in her ears.

She had no way to mark the passage of time. No hour candles, no pocket watch, instead she sat carefully feeding her fire until she started to feel sleepy. When she caught herself nodding off for the second time, Elizabeth shrugged out of her cloak. From around her shoulders, she pulled her shawl and then hastily donned her cloak again as she felt the chill try to seep through the thinner layers of her walking gown. Laying the fine wool shawl on the floor, she hoped that it would come to no harm. Carefully, she used a thicker stick to roll the now hot fist-sized stones out of the circle onto the shawl. Wrapping the stones up in the shawl she lay down, getting as comfortable as she could before pulling the bundle under her cloak to hold it against her middle. The stones acted much as the bricks they used to warm the bed sheets, and Elizabeth felt comforted by the reminder of something familiar.

When she woke, it was to a coldness that caught her breath. The same breath left her in an exhale that turned the air around her white. Elizabeth shivered. Sitting up, she removed the stones from her shawl and inspected it for damage. Thankfully the rocks hadn't burnt the fabric, and she quickly replaced it under her cloak.

Her bonnet had not survived being slept in. The fabric was crushed, and the ribbons had pulled uncomfortably tight beneath her chin during the night. Elizabeth struggled with stiff gloved fingers before finally releasing the ribbons. Deciding against taking it off and losing what little warmth she had, she instead tied the ribbons loosely and pulled the hood of her cloak up over it once more.

She paused a moment taking stock. The snow had stopped falling, and she could not tell from her elevated position how much was laid upon the ground. Carefully she clambered down the ridge to the ground. Her feet sank a foot into the snow, making her grimace at the cold wet feeling on her legs.

The morning air was crisp and sharp, the sky was clear of clouds, and the winter sun bounced off the white landscape making her blink away the tears that formed. Elizabeth took a moment to appreciate the scenery and then set off in the direction of Longbourn. She hoped that she would get home in time for breakfast.