It was tonight, but first she would see her grandmother.

She stopped outside the window like always. She could see her grandmother covered in layers of quilts. Probably at least five quilts. Plus the cat.

“Grandmother.”

A whisper, but it reached the old woman’s dream. Blankets shifted. Scents of lavender and sleepy skin; honeyed vanilla, that was the cat, and a breath which was barely a question, “Mmmm?” Oh, it was all the same. The moon inhaled.

Try again.

“Grandmother. Ruth.”

Two wide eyes over the edge of the quilt, and the cat was awake now, too. They stared out of the window, confused, until light dawned in her eyes. Happiness.

“Oh! It’s you.”

“Grandmother. Will you come?”

Ruth’s lids lowered, exhausted. “Pretty,” she managed before sleep took her again. The cat put his paw over her face and buried his head in the pillow. No, then.

Alone, the moon made her way to the woods where the others were waiting.

(From Snow Moon.)