"Mommy?" The little girl avoided her mother's eyes when they drifted upon her small, hesitant form.

"Yeah, Snowflake?"

Although she couldn't see her face, Winter just knew; and, after taking a moment to brace herself, she met her mother's bright, blue orbs, and found that she was right. Concern plagued her features and no longer was the woman's attention on the front lawn.

"Sweetie? What's wrong?" The girl shook her head, peeling her eyes away and stared at her feet, biting her lip. "Hey, look at me. What is it? You haven't said a word to me all morning."

During the short-lived pause, Winter heard her father and siblings as they playfully wrestled outside and laughed, radiant smiles presented over their lively faces. And she swallowed hard before turning in the direction of her mother. "I saw your notebook, Mom."

Her expression being at first marked with uncertainty turned into a look of trouble, and she closed the door, the woman taking a slow, reluctant breath. "Don't tell anyone," she said, her words stern, and she turned around to lock eyes with her daughter. "Promise me, okay? Don't tell a soul."

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Present-day:

"I know that you're tired, Win, but you need to put more into it." Looking at his daughter as she half-heartedly dug, Hale continued to grab at the muddy earth, his hands crusted with its sticky clay. "Hey, we need to get back to your brother and sister."

She frowned but gave a nod and ignored her sore-self, the girl's body begging for mercy. "Yeah." Giving herself a look over, she cringed at her dirty clothing, the fabric layered in both dirt and sweat. "I just wanna get back and take a break."

"Another few minutes, and I'm satisfied, Win."

"Hey, you know I hate that nickname, right?" When the man gave a light smile, she let a soft one spread to her own face. "Dad, why do you call me that? Mom always called me Snowflake." At the mention of her mother, Winter was surprised that she had let such a word slip past her mouth, and the girl bit her lip. "Nevermind."

Suddenly, her father stopped digging and the abrupt action made her do likewise.

"I guess we had our own thing."

"Yeah," she managed, fighting back her feelings; she couldn't allow any tears to come because then she'd be vulnerable. Instead, Winter set her jaw and continued the near-completed task of digging. "Yeah." When she felt a hand touch her shoulder, the girl looked up in surprise, and, giving another nod, she took a breath. "I guess I just miss her."

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"Hey. She loved you," her father said gently and dismissed his hand. But, before she could say anything, a certain sound interrupted the scene and they shared a knowing look. "I'll get 'em this time. Be right back."

She watched her father as he stood to his feet and, pulling out his knife, confronted the groaning walker, its soulless, dead eyes on him. However, when Winter saw him walk off, determined, she noticed his limp was much more evident than it had been all week. Mouth opening, she nearly said something when she held it back; he was fine to take on one walker, the girl decided, but soon found herself to be wrong. Stumbling over, he weakly stabbed through the air, the attempt being anything but successful. Taking a step back, he immediately took another with unmistaken hesitance.

"No," she muttered under her breath, fighting past her frozen-like state. "I'm coming." Knife in hand, she hurried over to the walker and stabbed it in the head before its body dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Turning to her father, she said, "What was that?!" And he shook his head, arms crossed. "We have still got a good hour before it's really dark. Go on to the others. I'll finish this trench up by myself."

"My blasted leg," he said, disappointment over his face. "Or maybe it's just my old age. I am almost fifty, you know. As of last month, I turned forty-eight. But my body has been wearing down long ago."

"No, trust me, okay? It's just your leg." Earning a smile, she recognized a hint of doubt but didn't say anything. Instead, she took a look around for any danger before heading back to the trench. "Go back to Forest and Autumn. Knowing that boy, he probably is desperate for us to come back. He's lucky Autumn is with him."

"Hey, be good to your brother. Sometimes I think you go too hard on him. You were fourteen once too. Actually, I believe he's very independent," he said, following after her, and watched as she dug at the earth. "You don't give him enough credit."

"I don't know, Dad. I don't know why I treat him so differently."

"But I do. I know why and I always have, Win," he said but paused when she looked up at the mention of her nickname. "He reminds you of yourself. That's why. You've always given yourself a hard time. Always have. In a weird way, you are trying to prepare him for the future hardships, but, listen: you don't need to. I think it's time for you to be nicer to your brother. You owe him that."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm finished." Catching a nod from the corner of her eye, she stood up on wobbly, sore legs, and left without another word, her father following just behind. "And, Dad? She loved you too."

A blanket of uncomfortable silence fell over them as they walked back, the continuous beats of their footsteps all to be heard for the next minute. All the while, they went forward with caution, their hands outstretched in case of any unseen hazards.

Maybe it's time. That same sentence whirled throughout her head on an endless loop, and each time she bit her lip. Whether she was to obey her father's wishes was what the girl debated, and it wasn't until she could make out her siblings that she had made up her mind. Although it was going to be a hard task, Winter was up for it. She was going to be nice to her brother. It was time.

Forest and Autumn becoming more clear with each step, she squinted through the darkness when she realized that they were huddled over an object. And, the sight now a clear one, she froze in fear. They were reading her notebook.