If there was one way to describe Summer, it was determined. Determined to annoy her, Winter decided, rubbing her eyes.
“Hey, Winter. What’s up?”
She turned toward the Baroness’ son. She envied his long hair, always bound back. It was just like his mother’s and it was beautiful. No wonder neither of them cut it. “Summer.”
Winter didn’t have to say anymore. He nodded. “Summer. Where have you looked already? Want any help?”
If there was one way to describe him, it could only be determined. His hand toward her, which she took, previous irritation gone. Oh, Summer would still have it when she found her. Her and her flaxen hair, smooth as silk.
His hair flared out with all of the curls and waves, darker than his dark skin. It contrasted so strongly with her hand in his, so light as though she was snow.
They went to find Summer.