The burning sun shone on the icicles hanging from the tree. The white swans were frozen into the crystal clear lake. Shining flakes of snow fell from the puffy clouds above.
Stephen stood out from the snow with his muddy brown eyes and black hair. His feet crunched in the thinkness of the snow as he ran home. It was coming.
He ran through the dark wood and around the frozen lake. It was coming.
Over the hills and past the well. It was coming.
He reach his house, but too late. It was here.