The field was barren, had been for years. A small house sat by the side of it, inside dwelt the man who had owned and worked the field for years. He had barely survived the last winter, and now that Father Frost was rearing his head once more to let loose the furious tumult, he didn’t imagine he would be surviving this one.

It was dark, when he heard the noise of sadness outside his window. Bundled up in old furs and worn boots, the man crept out through his door and was shocked to see a naked woman clutching her left arm tightly, blood seeping through her fingers.

The arm was broken, and by the look in her eyes so was she. He brought her in and gave her his furs to keep her warm as he set her broken arm. He turned what was left of his food into a stew and gave it to her, all the while she looked at him with her painful green eyes. They fell in love on that night, and married soon after.

She sewed beautifully, turning his tattered rags into wondrous dresses to wear. They had happiness together, for awhile.