For two weeks, we walk with the shadows, hunched beneath a sky that weeps snowflakes as sharp as shards of glass. The tundra threatens to swallow us with each step, and exhaustion clings like a second skin.

No matter how many breaks we take, I can’t shake off this fatigue. Frankie doesn’t complain, but the journey has been immensely hard on her.

She moves with a sluggishness that wasn’t there before. Every mile seems to cost her more than the last, her snowshoes dragging against the thick blanket of white.

There’s a slump to her shoulders beneath the pack. The skin around her eyes pulls tight, and perhaps the most telling is her silence. Her voice, when she does speak, lacks emotion and animation.

I stopped forcing her to rest. My concern only makes her more agitated and miserable.

But every night, she crawls into my arms and laces our legs together, seeking my comfort and body heat.

Every day, we wake before dawn and push forward, our eyes fixed on the horizon, longing for a glimpse of the cabin.

We’re close.

The landscape subtly shifts beneath our weary feet, and the air feels different, not warmer, but less biting. The snow begins to relent in places, exposing patches of frozen earth, hardy shrubs, and animal tracks. Rabbits. Foxes. Moose. Specks of life that signal how far south we’ve traveled.

The most heartening sight is the gradual appearance of a frozen stream, a guidepost paved in the landscape that runs all the way to the cabin. In the summer, it babbles and rushes with life, but now it lies in hibernation.

“Look.” I veer toward the icy path. “The stream means we’re close. We’ll reach the cabin by the end of the day.”

“Thank you, Jesus.”

My veins shimmer with anticipation. My circulation buzzes with a renewed energy, quickening my pace.

Tonight, we’ll have a safe shelter, a fire, and deep, restful sleep.

My lips squirm, making uncomfortable movements.

She studies me with an odd look. “Is that a smile?”

“No.”

“It totally is. Aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine?”

I shake my head. She laughs, and we trudge through the snow in silence, our breaths forming clouds of mist.

Every few minutes, I glance at her, her face partially obscured by loose strands of red hair.

The way she makes me feel, it’s the sweetest agony, the most exquisite pain.

The thought of anything happening to her under my watch weighs heavier than the pack on my back.

I love her, and that has redefined every aspect of my life.

The tundra is my home, my teacher, and my jailer, but as I walk beside her, I find myself dreaming of a different future. A future where the desolate wilderness is replaced by the chaos of civilization.

Breaking the silence, I venture into the unknown. “What’s it like…living in a town? Among other people?”

“It’s different.” A tired sigh escapes her lips. “There’s noise, a lot of it. And people, everywhere. But there’s a sense of belonging, too. You can find community, friends, those who care about you outside of survival.”

I nod, trying to imagine such a world. “It must be overwhelming to always have people around.”

“It can be. But you find your spaces, your peace. There’s beauty in solitude, but there’s beauty in connection, too. In a town, you learn to balance both.”

“The transition…” I don’t know how to put my concerns into words. “Going from this…”

“From isolation to over-stimulation? Yeah. That won’t be easy.” Her gaze softens, understanding. “It’ll be a shock, at first. The pace, the noise, the sheer number of people. But you’ll adapt. You’ll find the things you love about it. The convenience of stores. The easy access to food, music, and different cultures. The joy of going to the bathroom without freezing off your dick. But you’ll also miss the quiet, the connection to nature. It’s a trade-off.”

The thought of such a drastic change makes me uneasy. I’m good at this life, where success is defined by hard work and resilience. But out there? In a city? What am I? Who am I?

I don’t want to be a disappointment. The fear of failing, of fumbling, of fucking up, crawls into my voice. “What if I can’t adapt?”

She stops, turning to face me, her eyes earnest. “Then we adapt together. We find our way, like we always do. But I need you to promise me something.”

I grunt.

She snorts. Then her expression sobers. “Don’t lose yourself in the change. Remember who you are and hold on to that.”

“I don’t know how to be anything else but this.”

“Cool. Because I’m kind of obsessed with this.” She waves a hand over my body, making my cock twitch. “You and Leo, exactly as you are, can take on anything, including a new life.”

As we resume our journey, her words echo in my thoughts, a mix of warnings and promises, fears and dreams. The prospect of leaving behind a lifetime of isolation for the bustling life of a world I’ve only ever known through books and stories…it’s daunting.

But the promise of a new life with her? I’m grabbing hold of that with both fucking hands.

The final stretch is a monumental effort, but our pace carries an undercurrent of urgency, a desperate need to find shelter.

When the hunting cabin finally emerges on the dark horizon, we slow to a stop.

“We made it.” Her eyes, wide with disbelief, regard the modest shadow.

It’s a simple structure, solitary and stoic against the harsh landscape, made of weathered wood that has stood the test of many winters. There’s no plumbing. No windows. Just one room that serves as my haven during hunting season.

The best part? It has a hearth and an abundant supply of firewood and heavy fur pelts that Denver hauled in years ago. We’ll be able to dry our wet clothes and thaw our frozen limbs.

From this distance, it’s a faint outline. But I find myself scanning the ground for boot tracks and scenting the air for wood smoke.

Beside me, she remains motionless, her eyes sweeping over the tiny shape and its surroundings with a fervor that matches mine.

Unspoken questions hover between us.

Could Wolf have survived? Did he find refuge here?

As we draw closer, my entire body is sensitized to pick up on any signs of him—depressions in the snow that might suggest the presence of waste holes, discarded animal bones or scraps from meals, worn paths left by repeated trips between the cabin and the stream.

But the snow appears uniformly unmarked, and the chimney stands cold and silent against the night sky.

The absence of human presence adds to the growing anxiousness between us. We linger at the threshold of the cabin, the door sealed and offering no sound.

“No signs of bears.” I remove my gloves, my throat thick. “The pemmican should be safe.”

That’s why we’re here, but neither of us is focused on that.

Trembling fingers caress the chilled tips of mine.

I squeeze her hand and reach for the door with my other, hesitating. The possibility that Wolf might be inside, alive and waiting, is a hope so powerful it’s paralyzing.

Hope is a treacherous bitch.

It crushes, darling.

She watches me, her expression a mirror of my rising disquiet.

With a deep breath, I push the door open, the creak of its hinges cutting through the silence like a verdict.

The interior greets us with darkness, dusty and untouched. The hearth is cold, the wood stacked neatly beside it, exactly how I left it.

The crushing emptiness squeezes around us, thinning the air, making it hard to breathe.

Her pack drops to the floor, and she shuffles away, giving me her back. Her shoulders tremble, and quietly, almost imperceptibly, she begins to cry.

The sound of her sobs, muffled by the thick wool of her gloves, is gutting.

I’m on her in three strides, my heart cracking at the sight of her anguish. It’s an instinct, as natural as breathing, to protect her from this pain, to shield her from it.

Gathering her into my arms, I hold her tightly, try to absorb her suffering, to take it all upon myself.

“He can’t be gone, Kody. He can’t.”

He is. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.

But what solace can the truth offer against the raw, gaping wound of loss?

“If only I’d given him more.” She collapses into me as quiet tears shake her frame. “Had I been enough, the partner he needed, he would be here—”

“Stop.” I kiss her face, her lips, her wet cheeks, and stare into her watery eyes. “Hear me, woman. You’re more than enough. You were the best thing in his life. His decision to give up has nothing to do with your worth. His fate was frozen the moment he killed his mother. He never came back from that.”

“I know, but I hate it. For him, for you and Leo. I hate this pain so much.”

“I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

I feel the depth of my loss in the soundless release of her sobs. It’s a hot, twisting clench that never lets go.

My mind races, searching for something, anything, to ease her sorrow. But there are no words, no actions that can heal this.

Time, maybe. But Wolf left a deep, enduring mark on us. If I ever see him again, in this life or the next, I’m going to beat his fucking ass.

For now, I do the only thing I can. I sit with her in the dark, holding her through a grief that consumes us both.

When her sniffles give away to sleep, I know the pain hasn’t left. It’s merely settled. But together, we’ll carry it, sharing the burden as we’ve shared every challenge since our paths converged.

Tucking her against me, I strike a match and light the fire.

In the warmth of the crackling flames, I build a nest of fur pelts, strip us down to our thermal underclothes, and settle us into bed.

Through it all, she doesn’t wake, and that suits me just fine. I’m ready to join her.

The cabin, though empty without Wolf, offers a bounty of pemmican and sanctuary from the night. With a heavy beam securing the door, nothing is getting in. Not the howling wind or the predators or the obstacles that await us tomorrow.

Not tonight.