What Do You Think Of This Edited Draft?

okay so, i edited a excerpt of my story i’ve been working on for an hour… tell me if you like it
I’ve always wondered what it’s like on the outside. It’s not just me, I know that. Everyone has those impure thoughts that do nothing to help the community, and I doubt even the elder hasn’t dreamt of having the sun touch his cheeks, even if that meant giving up control inside the wall. It was unlikely he’d ever admit it though, seeing as how this is his community, raised solely by his fist. I just want Something other than the consuming dark, swirling snow.
But no one has these thoughts as often as I do. No one actually wants to do something about it. No one wants to break out, to get out from under Elder’s control. That’s bad, though. You’ll get killed just thinking about something like that.
I place my weather ridden hand on the stony wall, feeling the roughness beneath my fingers. I spread them out, rubbing them on the stones. I want to see the bright sky beyond the wall, instead of the never ending storm. I need to feel the grass beneath my bare feet, warm and crisp. I’ve felt it before. I’ve been out, a long time ago when it was only just mother, Falcon and me. But that was then. This is now, where I’m trapped here like all the others, who’ve only known Elder’s gaze on their backs.
“Your brother’s going to suffocate.” a calm, calculating voice surprises me, enough to make me drop my hand immediately and scramble to pick up my baby brother, who had been previously playing in the soft gray surrounding us on all sides. He had dug his way headfirst into a mound, and he was squirming around, attempting to pull himself out. It wasn’t working.
I take him out in one, swift gesture. His face is a sort of blue, the sort that all the corpses in our community wear. “Oh,” I mutter wrapping him up in my shawl. Behind me, Dexter smiles grimly.
“Better get him home. I don’t want to be around when your mother finds out that he died.” I start to rock the three year old in my arms.
“He’s not going to die, idiot. He’s just a little cold, you know.” My brother- Ethan- gurgles, his lips not the regular pink.
“I’d get going if I were you.” He sticks his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and saunters past me. “If he does, you know, end up needing one, my mother plans great funerals.” If I wasn’t holding an unconscious three year old in my hands I would’ve turned around and punched him square in the gut. But I needed to get Ethan home.
I kissed him gently on his chilly forehead, for the first time, fear settling in my heart. “Shh Ethan, it’s okay.” Somehow I knew it wouldn’t be. I’d seen enough of my brothers and sisters die with stark blue faces, from being outside too long.
I started the mile long journey home, starting at a fast sprint. My brother weighed barely twenty pounds soaking wet, and it was like carrying a small bag of fruits. Not that I had ever seen one of our satchels full.
B.Q. is this good for a 13 year old?