One Who Cries crawled up to push the drifted snow out of the shelter tunnel. Bad choice that, there hadn’t been time to dig a dipped entranceway to act as a cold trap. Wind sucked the snow past, the world a cloud of white. He pondered the possibilities of moving. He might be able to keep his direction by the wind. But what good would that do? They could walk over a cliff, flounder in a morass of soft-packed willows or larch. And where would they go? Worse, the children, the weakest, would fall behind … lost from the rest.
He slumped on the snow, staring blankly at the unending vortex of the storm. Cold leached up from the ice below. The storm might blow for days.
“It’s over,” he murmured.
With no strength to hunt, only another carcass could keep them alive, render up the life it had once held.
“Maybe we should have gone north,” he whispered, looking to where Green Water slept. Her broad nose barely moved
with the breath of life. “I’m sorry, wife. So sorry. I led you out here, following a fool.”
He reached out to caress her hand, feeling the cold, knowing it wouldn’t be such a bad death. Better than rotting from some sickness, wasting away. The wolves would get them in the end.
A sudden ironic thought dawned. He looked back to the windswept white plain, eyes searching for movement. “Was that it, Wolf? Did you fool the boy, lure him here to feed your fleshly brothers?”
He braced his forehead against his arm, laughing softly. “I guess I’m willing. Everybody has to provide for their own.”
“Because we’re all one, my husband,” Green Water said, voice taking on the awed speech-giving tone of the elders around the blazing night fires of winter. “We were stars once. Father Sun threw us out of heaven. Muskrat saw us falling and dove into the sea, bringing up dirt so our landing would be soft. Then Father Sun blew life into us and other falling stars, making us brothers, all the same. We eat wolves; they eat us. It’s all the same life.”
“You’re being awfully calm about this.”
She shrugged weakly.
He crawled back to lie beside her, slipping an arm beneath her head and nuzzling her cheek with his own. “But who will pray us back up to the stars?”
Wind Woman howled outside, snow flitting in to frost their hides and sting their faces.
“Maybe Wolf will.”
“I hope so.”
His mittened hand clutching Green Water’s, he closed his eyes and dozed. In the dream, he lived again, a young man. Green Water’s shy smile and knowing eyes followed him as he strutted before her, a proud hunter, his first solo kill laid before the fire. Even then she’d seen through his laughter, seeing the man beneath. Green Water always knew. She always had everything ordered, each event planned for and accepted. Not even the death of their first child—starving so early that Long Dark—had disturbed her poise. Death came. She grieved, and accepted, planning for the future.
Such a woman … wasted on him.
Snow slid down on top of him. Had that much built up? He sighed, wondering if there was a purpose in climbing back up, pushing it away so they could breathe. Smothering would be a quicker death, a shorter suffering.
Someone’s dog whined. But then, someone’s dog was always whining. Dogs were that way. Either whining, or fighting, or eating up the food.
He shook his head, trying to clear the hunger haze. Dog? They’d eaten the dogs!
“Imagination,” he grumbled, and looked up into a black dog face staring down the tunnel at him.
One Who Cries blinked, hearing with his own ears the sniffing of the animal. Food! He reached for his darts, feeling the trembling in his muscles. Cursed hunger robbed a man of …
“Get back, Black,” a sharp voice called as One Who Cries shifted to free his darts. Green Water sat up, desperate hope in her eyes.
The black dog backed out in a new cascade of snow. One Who Cries mustered his strength to crawl up, only to be met by a hooded face looking in.
“Hungry in there?” an old woman asked. “Thought it was a nice storm. Not the kind to be wasted sitting home by the fire, so I threw a couple of guts full of fat and took a walk.”
One Who Cries stared. “Are you a spirit trying to suck my soul into the Long Dark?”
“Hush,” Green Water called, pulling him back to the side. The old woman wiggled in, the black dog leaning forward to fill the space, blocking the little light.
“Black!” the old woman growled. “Get out of here.” She motioned and the dog backed hurriedly out.
“Where’s Broken Branch?” the woman asked—a wicked light in her eye.
“Next shelter, I think. You know her?” One Who Cries asked.
She studied him for a second. “Know her? Twenty-five Long Darks ago, I promised I’d kill her if she ever came into my reach again. That’s a long time to keep a promise.”
One Who Cries looked sharply at Green Water.
Cold. Nothing else existed but the hunger knot in Dancing Fox’s belly. Only Talon’s weak raspy breath reminded her that she wasn’t alone, that other humans existed, that the world had once held warmth, sunshine, and laughter.
Wind Woman ravaged the snow around them, rattling ice crystals off the worn caribou robe they snuggled under. So little body heat left to share, so little energy. Despite the hide they’d wrapped in, despite the double layers of hair-on parkas, the cold ate at them.
“Who will sing us to the Blessed Star People?” she wondered aloud.
“Maybe Mammoth, huh?” Talon murmured, not even moving her old gray head where it lay pillowed on Dancing Fox’s shoulder.
“Four days we’ve lain here. I wonder if anyone but us is alive?”
“My greatest worry,” Talon whispered, “is that you might have to pee again. You get up and I’m gonna freeze.”
“I might have to. You’re warmer if you don’t keep that extra water. It sucks the heat out of you. Wastes what little’s left.”
“Ah, I know that. But I can’t get up again, girl. Can’t do it. Bare my butt to the blowing snow? No, it’ll kill me. My thread’s weak … weak … .”
Dancing Fox closed her eyes. “Thank you, Talon, for spending time with me. I don’t think I could have made—”
“Bah,” Talon hissed softly. “I wanted to be with you.” Then she turned her ancient face up and stared at the ice walls. “Wish we’d both gone with Runs In Light. Wolf Dream. There’s Power in that.”
“I tried.”
“I know.” The old woman’s head moved as she swallowed. “I … know.”
Dancing Fox lifted the corner of the caribou hide, seeing the wraiths of snow rushing past. Here, on the ground, the whole world hazed white. Even in this little bit of day, she could see nothing. What a terrible way for her soul to leave its body.
“Runs In Light?” she called softly. “One day, perhaps among the stars, we’ll find each other. I’ll hold you then. Love you.”
She closed her eyes, blinking back the tears, pain from the loss lancing her very heart.
“Still calling after my idiot brother?”
Even through dreams of death, Raven Hunter’s voice penetrated. She willed his knowing tones away.
“Come on, my dearest Dancing Fox,” the voice called again, insistent, real. “Raise your flap and eat this.”
Talon shifted next to her as the caribou hide lifted, and despite the cold snow that blew in, she stared up into his handsome face.
“I found Sheep Whistle’s camp a day from here.” He handed her strips of meat. “They’re setting up a shelter now. We’ll have a fire going in a couple of minutes. Heat some fat up. It’ll be hard, but I think we can save the ones still alive. Until then, stay warm.”
“We’ll live,” she whispered. Oh, Runs In Light, I’m going to live!
“Good boy, that Raven Hunter,” Talon whispered. “You could do a lot worse than him, Fox. A lot worse.”
Dancing Fox winced, shuddering.