She didn’t need the county telling her what the storm already had.
Outside, her old gelding Ranger stamped in the lean-to and snorted against the cold. The barn lantern swung once in a blast of wind. The generator light on the porch flickered but held. Claire had done her rounds before dark, checked the stock tank heater, stacked extra wood, and filled both bathtubs with water in case the pipes froze. Out here, winter punished anybody who confused routine with safety.
She lifted the mug again, but before the coffee reached her mouth, she heard something beneath the wind.
A sound.
Not close. Not clear.
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