The place in her, though, where her tears should have come from, was rough and dry. No, she didn’t find any tears in herself to cry for the storyteller.The storyteller didn’t exist anymore.

There are fewer answers in the world than questions, and if you ask me now why that is so, I must tell you that there is no answer to that question.

And she imagined how things could be later. It was stupid, but the picture just appeared in her mind. Abel and Magnus shoveling snow together… in twenty years, in thirty. Magnus had grown old, his...

The white noise from the old Walkman enveloped them both; like a blanket of new snow, it draped itself over them, shutting out all the curious looks.And the world under the blanket was – surprisingly,...

She had taught herself how to knit, and for the mare’s scarf – it was green – she had given herself the best grade possible. And …”That’s silly!’ Micha giggled. ‘Well, who is the cliff...

Abel was brushing the snow off his parka while Micha was dancing around him, still balancing the plate of cookies, singing, ‘We’re staying, we’re staying, we’re staying overnight! We’re drying! We’re drying! We’re drying on...

As long as you’re better at it than skating…,” Anna said and stood up too. She wanted to say more, but that wasn’t possible because he was kissing her. Reasonable Anna wanted to draw back...