Weekend Writing Warriors

Snow stepped closer. I could hear the gentle rise and fall of her breath only an inch or two from my shoulder. “You had your Gran.”
I sniffed, wiping a tear off my nose with the back of my hand. When had I started crying? I never cried.“I only saw her once a moon and . . . she wasn't like you.”
“No one's going to keep you away from me.” Snow promised.
In the warmth of the summer night, under the canopy of more stars than any being could hope to count, I believed her.