Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Despite the physical exertion of plowing through the snow, which at times reaches up to our knees, my mind never wanders from its primary task. As she focuses on maintaining her footing, I watch for signs of predators—wolves that see us as intruders or a bear displaced from hibernation.
As we approach a section where the snow appears packed enough to support our weight, I test it first. Offering her a hand to help her across, ensuring she doesn’t break through into a hidden crevasse beneath.
My crossbow never leaves my grip, its weight a comfort and a reminder to remain focused. She carries a rifle strapped over her shoulder. I know she’s competent in its use and always aware of its presence, frequently adjusting the sling and checking the safety.
I love the way she moves. Even in the snowshoes, she walks with a determined grace, her vigilance an echo of my own, though tempered with an innate temerity that I find fascinating.
“You know,” she says after a mile of silence, “for someone who speaks in grunts, you’re pretty loud with your thoughts.”
I glance at her, the corners of my mouth twitching in what could be a smile.
“Hm,” I grunt, true to form.
She laughs, a sound too bright for the sunless sky. “What are you watching for? Wolves or bears?”
“Anything that sees us as a meal. I’ve fought every form of dangerous beast out here. I’d rather not do it again.”
She nods, her gaze on the dark horizon. “When I first arrived, I thought the biggest threat was you.”
“Why?” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline.
“Well, let’s see. You glowered and grunted and didn’t use words. You separated yourself from everyone, looking ten kinds of pissed off. You weren’t just physically distant from the others. You had this whole moody, detached vibe.” She waves her arms around, talking with her hands. “This murky, underworld air about you. All muscle and mystery. Totally unapproachable. Unquestionably lethal. I thought you were the scary one. The dark one. When I saw you the first time, leaning against the wall in the kitchen, I couldn’t breathe. Denver said not to worry. It would take you some time to warm up. Then Wolf started choking on a laugh like it was a private joke, and I was the punchline.”
Wolf.
Sometimes, I forget he’s gone. Then, like a sucker punch out of nowhere, his absence hits me in the chest, knocks the wind out of me, and burns my fucking eyes.
“I miss his laugh.” She swallows and looks away. “Even when I was the punchline.”
I should say something, soothe her with words, but I don’t have any. So I give her the response I’m good at.
I grunt.
She sucks in a breath that turns into a half-hiccup, half-laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Says no one ever.”
“Seriously, Kody.” She weaves closer, bumping my arm with her shoulder. “If we run into a bear, would you just give it one of your looks?”
“No.” I shoot her a look, not the one she’s suggesting. “I would protect us with my crossbow. Not a goddamn look.”
“I know that. I’ve seen you in action. But I’m not kidding. You would scare off the bear if you glared at it the way you glared at me that day in the kitchen. I mean, you scared me off for weeks.”
“I’m sorry.” My chest pinches. “I won’t make excuses for that. I was an ass and—”
“Stop it. I forgave you a long time ago. And given the circumstances, no apologies are needed.” She sighs. “I’m so glad we’re past that. Getting to know you guys was the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done.”
An inner fire unfurls inside me, radiating like a hearth.
For all the pain and trauma that Denver inflicted on us, he made up for it in one gloriously sinister action.
He gave us Frankie.
As the day wears on, the conversation flows between Frankie’s playful jabs and my staccato of grunts, an exchange that somehow bridges the gap between our contrasting personalities. Despite my long silences, her confrontational warmth slowly pulls me out of my clunky shell.
My vigilance never wanes, but her incessant probing and challenging keeps the silence from returning.
I watch her closely for signs of exhaustion or the onset of cold injuries. When her steps falter, I suggest breaks, framing them as necessary for my own well-being, though my primary concern is for her.
During these brief rests, I study her face for frostbite, the telltale white patches on exposed skin. I demand she eat and stay hydrated, even when the subzero temperatures make the idea of consuming anything unappealing.
After an eternally long day, our relentless march through the snow takes its toll.
Our conversation becomes sparse, conserved like the energy we need to keep going. But I’m always listening to her voice, alert to any change that might indicate distress or discomfort.