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thumbs up for talking to yourself!! +5
Skye had been tending to her garden like usual, but the cold weather seemed to be too much for some of the growing bushes. Some were doing well under her water-spray treatment, but some were turning brown and yellow, and she was forced to root up the dead ones, so that they don't choke the ones that are alive by tangling their roots. She wanted healthy bushes, and although they wouldn't give berries during the winter, she was hoping that by making them grow up in the winter, it'd toughen them up for any other winters to come.
Her mother had done that with some plants, and it worked, most of the time; they would grow up in the winter and cold, and when the warmth came around, they were strong and tough and produced many berries and fruits for her family to eat. They were always delicious and ripe, and never died during the next winters.
As Skye knelt down in the dirt, she felt the cold herself, and shivered. She was wearing her loose blue pants and a long-sleeved, albeit ripped and dirty, shirt that she had found in her house. Her house was coming along nicely, in fact; very nicely indeed. She had prevented the vines from creeping into her house by patching up most of the holes in her house, and had hunted out all the rats and mice that have made their home there. Now that the winter had arrived, she had taken to taking out the old, soggy wood from the fireplace, drying the fireplace up, and putting new fires in there. It took a while to make a fire - she had to find dry wood, a small stick, and rub it for hours until the fire would spark - but when it did, it was worth it. The warmth seeped through the house like a warm fog, and she would sit in front of it at night, using the warmth and light from the fire to write in the journal Bangle gave her as well as read from one of the many books she'd found around Souls.
Her mind wandered to Bangle; she was starting to have strong feelings for the coywolf, but she wasn't sure what they were yet. She liked him very much; his sense of humor, the way he made her laugh, his beautiful craftmanship. Just himself. Everything about the coywolf rubbed her the right way, and Skye loved to be around him, talking to him, or just sitting by him and swimming like the time in the pool. As she uprooted dead bushes and scattered more water on the sprouts as well as put dead and rotting peels around the ground, she wondered if he harbored the same feelings for her. She knew that he didn't like staying around for long, but she didn't know if he would leave during the spring like she thought he might. She didn't want him to go, though. She didn't want him to go at all.