Crusts of Ice and Scattered Blood.

Now there were over twenty people gathered amongst the trees at the winter gathering place. A small fire and a couple of gas heaters under tarpalin roofs gave some refuge for those who were unpacking the stuff they wanted to trade. Sounds of shattering ice crusts were everywhere in the air as horses, snow traveling machines and walkers made their way within and without the tiny village. A village that would not be here tommorrow.
Some recorded music came from somewhere nearby and the two children clapped sticks of firewood together in percusive sympathy, danced on the packed snow and laughed.

A woman, who I did not know, suddenly gave an angry shout and trod heavily toward two unpainted crates by the fire. She carried a cooking pot. One of the men who worked down the creek from our place, staggered away from the woman and sat down heavily, lurching to keep his balance as he sat in the snow. One hand was over his face and the other on top of his skull.

Some people stubbornly kept onto the tasks they had begun but soon even these stopped.