THE TREES were still, and the sun out. There were footprints at the snow. Water ran from the roof onto his face. The yellow house was quiet. He sat and watched the sun move.

Her sister came out and stood beside him. She wore the same clothes. Her hair shined damp. She coughed. She looked down at him sitting there.

You’re wet, she said.

I could have frozen, he said.

He wasn’t sure of this.

It’s too warm, she said. We knew you were okay. You were tired.

I think I could have.

He looked at his arms and legs. They felt fine. He shook them out a bit.

Look, he said. There’s snow.

He swept an arm over the woods in front.

It’s everywhere, he said.

The house kept you warm, she said.

He felt the back of his head, and then his shoulders, and they were warm, a little wet from dripped water.

We knew you were out here, she said. We knew.

He felt angry at the sureness of the morning, its direct whiteness, and her sister stood up in it. His head throbbed.

You’re just like all of them, he said. You don’t know where anyone is.

What? she said.

She looked confused.

He dropped his face to the wet snow between his legs. She blew in her hands, and they were quiet. He stood up and knocked the snow from his legs. He paced a small circle.

There’s supposed to be something here, he said.

He sat down against the house once more.

There is, she said.

There’s not goddammit. It’s just fucking strange is all it is.

He pointed at her.

There’s not anything, he said.

He shook his head.

She’s supposed to be here.

She is.

Where? Tell me where.

In the trees, the snow, the mountains.

I don’t believe that. I don’t feel any of that.

You’re not trying. You don’t see.

I see plenty I see all of it. And it’s bullshit.

You are so sad.

You don’t know anything.

Why can’t you believe that? That she’s here?

Because it doesn’t mean anything.

He clenched again, and pushed at it, mashed his teeth together and cinched his eyes and he fought until it took him, and he sat in the snow and wept at his knees.

She shook her head again, breathed out hard through her nose. She went back inside the house.

Clouds beat the treeline in front, low, gray and pregnant. He stood up, stepped away from the yellow house, and pressed his shoulders to a small pine.

He found the green house. He found the road. There was the ache of snow coming on. The wind came through the trees. The prayer flags shuddered. He grew taller.