Girl in the Red Hood by Brittany Fichter

didn't help Liesel
any. When the first ice storm had finished, she'd wandered outside
breathless at its beauty. The icicles had hung from every branch,
roof, and window like ornaments of crystal, gleaming white and blue
in their glory. But as the ice came again and again, and the food
came through less and less, Liesel found her will to leave the
cottage slipping away. The constant ache in her belly and the
fatigue of her muscles had made her lethargic and unable to travel
far from the cottage. She'd spent most of her days leaving her
mattress only to do what she must, making the bread, on days they
had enough grain to make any, and warming weak tea on the fire. The
cottage, she soon discovered, was riddled with cracks and holes,
and though she tried to stuff them with rags and mud, they
continued to blow cold air all through the house.
    Warin had spent more time than ever in the
warm tavern, and only ever seemed home when it was dark and
difficult to see. The only exception was on holy days, through
which he slept, and Liesel lacked the strength to wake him. It was
on those days that Liesel missed Kurt the most. He couldn't enter
the village, and she couldn't make it into the woods to meet him.
She missed reading her stories with him, and she missed planning
their adventures. She wanted so much for him to take her by the
wrist and drag her through the woods once again, and she longed to
see her mountain. Oh, she missed her mountain.
    It was two months after the first snowfall
that Liesel saw Kurt again. The fire was dying, so Liesel had
roused herself enough to put on her cloak and venture out to the
village edge to gather sticks for the fire. As she bent down to add
another to her bundle, she was startled by a voice.
    "Where have you been? I've been looking all
over for you!" When she looked up at him, however, Kurt stopped
talking and just stared. Only then did Liesel realize what he must
be seeing. Her hours in the cottage had made her drawn and pale.
And weak. The last time Liesel had dared to look in her mother's
small hand mirror, it wasn't her face that had looked back. It had
been a thin, sickly girl with dry yellow hair that fell limply down
her back. There were dark hollows beneath her eyes that looked like
bruises against her white skin. She bent back down and began
picking up sticks again, her face burning with shame. To her
surprise, however, he took her by the shoulders and stood her back
up so he could study her more. "What happened to you?" His voice
was kinder this time, but it didn't lessen Liesel's
embarrassment.
    "The ice has kept the supply wagons out of
the forest," she spoke to the ground, not willing to look him in
the eye.
    "But your family is supposed to get ration,
isn't it?" Liesel shrugged.
    "I tried. I couldn't carry the grain back to
the cabin."
    "But your father can get it, can't he?"
Liesel didn't answer. Kurt's voice hardened a bit. "Liesel, why
won't your father get it?"
    "He might remember if he wasn't so busy at
the tavern!" Her words were sharper than she'd meant them to be,
but the bitterness in her heart was too great to hide any longer.
How she had wanted to keep her father's habit a secret from her
friend. It was one thing to have an absent-minded father, but it
was another to have one who thoughtlessly forgot all else in his
quest for comfort.
    "He doesn't hunt either, does he?" Liesel
shook her head and finally gathered the courage to look at her
friend directly. His expression was as judgmental as she had
expected, but his appearance overall took her a bit by surprise.
Despite the uneven stubble on his face, and the fact that his pants
were even shorter on him than usual, Kurt looked fine. The constant
want that was painted on her and on all of the villagers' faces the
few times she'd seen them was nowhere to be seen on Kurt. He was
healthier than ever, and had easily grown an inch in the months
since she'd seen him.
    "No," she said. "The mayor told him hunting
is outlawed in these