Icefall
“My brown hair that is neither curly nor straight. Bera, do you remember the time you tried to dye it, to make it the color of gold, like Asa’s? Not even your strongest lye could bleach away its dullness, but left me instead with hair the color of a dried leaf. But that did not stop you, sister, from plaiting and braiding and weaving flowers through it. We used to sit by the fire, and Bera, you were there, too, with your sewing.
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