The morning was cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones, making it hard to find the energy to get out of bed. Jas had been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, watching the gray light of dawn creep into the room. The monotony of their new life in the woods was starting to wear on them, each day blending into the next with no real purpose, no change. The world outside seemed just as dull, the trees a muted shade of brown and green, their leaves fallen, stripped bare for the winter.
Jas sighed, rubbing their face with the back of their hand. No work to do, no new plans to make. Just the same stretch of land to walk through, the same routine of hauling water, checking the traplines, and sitting around the fire. The silence was suffocating.
Ivy Mae was out gathering firewood again, Roman off checking the traps. Even Milagro was quiet, resting his sore paw in the corner. Jas felt... stuck. Bored. Like the days were just passing by, without any meaning.
Then, like a sudden breeze breaking the stillness, Ivy Mae came in, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She was holding something in her hands—paintbrushes, a small jar of mixed colors, and a roll of paper.
“Jas,” she said, her voice bright, “I have an idea. Let’s paint.”
Jas blinked at her. “Paint? Why?”
“Why not?” Ivy Mae replied, setting the supplies down on the small table. “You’re always talking about how everything feels gray. Well, let’s change that. We have paint, we have brushes. Let’s add some color to this place, if not for us, then for the land around us.”
Jas hesitated, eyeing the paints skeptically. “I don’t know… seems like a waste of time.”
“It’s not a waste,” Ivy Mae insisted, her tone almost playful. “It’s about finding something beautiful in the small things. Like these colors. Look,” she said, dipping her brush into the vibrant blue paint and swishing it across the paper. “See how it brightens up the space?”
Jas glanced at the paper, the stroke of blue vivid against the plain background. Something in them stirred, the first flicker of curiosity in days. They stood up, walking over to the table.
“I don’t know how to paint,” Jas muttered, pulling a brush from the jar.
“You don’t have to be good at it,” Ivy Mae said with a grin. “Just let your hands do the work. The colors will do the rest.”
With that, Ivy Mae began painting, blending reds and yellows to create a warm sun that seemed to glow on the paper. Jas watched for a moment, then dipped the brush in the blue, smearing it across the surface. Slowly, tentatively, they started to make marks, moving their hand over the page in uneven strokes. They didn’t know what it was supposed to be, but the colors… they felt different. Less gray. More alive.
Ivy Mae hummed as she worked, a soft tune that filled the room. Jas could feel the weight of the silence lifting, the world outside, though still cold and dreary, fading into the background. For the first time in a while, they felt like they had something to focus on, something that wasn’t just survival or dull routine.
As the hours passed, the small room began to fill with a sense of warmth—not just from the fire, but from the colors, from the act of creating something. By the time Roman and Milagro returned, the paintings were sprawled across the table, a chaotic burst of hues and shapes.
Roman raised an eyebrow, glancing from the paintings to the two of them. “What’s all this?”
Ivy Mae grinned. “We’re brightening up the place.”
Jas smiled, a small but real smile, feeling something stir inside them again. “It’s... not so bad,” they admitted.
Roman shook his head, his expression still skeptical but softening. “Well, I’m glad you found a way to spend the day. I’ll admit, it’s better than sitting around moping.”
Milagro padded over to the table, sniffing at the paintings, and then nudged Jas with his nose. Jas laughed and scratched behind his ears, feeling a warmth inside them that had been missing for far too long.
Ivy Mae leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “Sometimes, you just have to create a little light in the gray.”
And for the first time in a while, Jas felt like maybe, just maybe, she was right.