Etta's mother has never seen the village. She's never asked to. For four years, she has asked only one question - "How's the village?" - and listened to her daughter's answer like news from a real country.
Because it is one. Etta made Everwick when she was seven - drew its maps, wrote its almanacs, invented its festivals, its families, its founding stories, even its language - and somewhere along the way, through a gap in the hedge at the bottom of the garden, it became real. A river valley she can walk into. Villagers who have lived their whole lives under its bell tower. Harvests, weddings, winters - sixty years of history grown from a child's notebooks. And one thing no one in Everwick knows: their sky, the weather they thank and wonder at, is Etta herself. The valley's climate is an eleven-year-old girl's own heart.
Then a word comes into Etta's house that changes everything on both sides of the hedge. As her mother begins the long fight of her life, winter falls on Everwick - early, strange, and wrong - and a village that has never once been told what its sky is must find a way to keep faith with it in the dark.
A story about two worlds wintering together, about what families carry and how they carry it, and about the oldest law of every lit window: you keep the lamp burning for the one who can't see it.