She saw the sky, and felt like she was flying.
A cold breeze blew past, throwing her hair into her face, forcing her eyes closed so soon after they’d opened. The side of her head was numb—no, not numb, it was hurt. She was hurt. Her bones ached like she’d been thrown down a mountain, like her body was two light blows from collapse. She tried to think of what had happened, but the moment she did, the pain amplified itself into an overwhelming force that washed away everything else. She gasped for air.
A face was above her so suddenly, she yelped.
It was only a blur at first, a dark shape against all that white sky, its breath warm on her cheek and smelling faintly of smoke. Then a strand of black hair swung loose and tickled her nose, and the shape grew a pair of eyes, red-rimmed and wide.
“You’re alive!” said the woman, face a mixture of happiness and amazement. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
“I…” said…said…
The woman frowned at her. “Ugly? Are you alright?”
It was like the sun had crested over the horizon, swaddling her with warmth. Ugly. Yes, she remembered now. “Niibin,” she said, weakly. “W-where’s—”
“Thunderbum? Gone.” She pointed out into the forest. “Took the rabbit and left without a word. I don’t mean to offend you, but I don’t think you’re very tasty.”
Ugly tried to sit, but her vision swam when she tried. Niibin took her arm and helped her up, and kept a hand on her just in case she fell back again.
Their home was in ruins. Niibin had clearly gone in to retrieve whatever was salvageable, and had laid it out in the snow all around them. Bits of metal, plates and bent silverware. The iron pot, dented in on one side like someone had taken a hammer to it. One of the furs, torn clean in two, and the cedar boughs that had been their bedding strewn halfway down the slope. At the mouth of the cave, the snow was churned to brown slush, and the smell of him still hung over it all, rank and musky and wet.
Shreds of a charcoal drawing. The charcoal drawing. Thunderbum had gone on a rampage when he’d woken up, and though she didn’t say it, Niibin’s face showed how much it hurt. The frame was kindling. The biggest piece left, the one Niibin had set apart on a flat stone, held nothing but a few long, dark strokes of hair and the edge of a cheek. The daydreaming eyes were gone. Niibin kept glancing at that scrap and then away, her jaw set hard, like if she let it loose for even a second, everything else would come with it.
“I feel ill,” said Ugly, and then vomited onto the snow next to her. It took her a moment to recover.
“I don’t know much about bears,” said Niibin. “Didn’t have any books about bears. But I’ll tell you one thing I intuited, that may serve you well in the future: when a bear comes to get you, throw the stupid rabbit away!”
Ugly laughed and winced at the pain in her head. Not numb, exactly, and not sharp—a dull, heavy throb that sat somewhere underneath the numbness and pulsed every time she moved. “I’ll try to remember that for next time.”
“I certainly hope there won’t be a next time. Please don’t make a habit of antagonizing bears.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the wreckage of her life. “It’s the last time I share a room with one, that’s for sure. Far too temperamental.”
“Where will you live, then?” asked Ugly.
Niibin’s face changed between a few emotions at once. Her mouth tried for a joke and didn’t get there; her eyes went to the scrap of paper on the stone, and for a moment she just looked tired. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “It’s not easy, finding suitable accommodations big enough for two.”
Ugly raised an eyebrow. “I thought I wasn’t welcome anymore.”
“No, I never said you weren’t welcome. You said you weren’t going to stay. I only said—”
“I have to know why I’m doing what I’m doing,” said Ugly, the memory coming back to her in fits and starts. “But I don’t. I still don’t. So what’s changed?”
Niibin plopped down in the snow next to Ugly and pulled a small book from the pocket of her coat. It was water damaged, with pages torn out and a cover that was halfway to coming right off—but Niibin handled it like it was the most precious thing in the world.
“These are my rules,” she said. “These are the words that tell me how to live my life. They give my life meaning, my days structure. My life structure.” She turned to a page covered in the oddest writing, in a script Ugly couldn’t understand at all. In the middle was a line underlined and underlined and underlined again. “‘Every sunset is the same, except the one you didn’t watch’,” Niibin said, pointing to the words.
“I know,” said Ugly. “I can’t skip the details. I have to remember or—”
“No,” said Niibin, then sighed and shook her head. “Or yes. Or I don’t know.” She carefully flipped through the remaining pages, like the feel of them on her fingers would solve her problems. “According to these rules, I should have left you to die, back then. According to these rules, I should have watched you die, because interfering is the greater sin.” She set the book down on her lap. “According to these rules, my family should still be alive.”
Neither of them said anything. The wind came through the pines in a long, low hush, and somewhere off in the trees a branch let go of its snow with a soft whump. Niibin didn’t look up. Her thumb kept worrying at a corner of the cover that was already worn soft as cloth.
Ugly blinked back shock. “They…wait…”
Niibin shrugged, eyes downcast. “I don’t know for sure, but…” She planted a finger on the book. “This was my mother’s. She’d sooner burn it than part with it. And I found it on the floor by her bed.”
She said it plainly, the way you’d say where you’d left a pair of mittens. But her finger didn’t come off the book, and it was pressing down hard enough that the nail had gone white.
Her voice cracked, and she sniffed and pushed the emotions away. Or tried to. Her chin went first, and she pressed her lips together and breathed through her nose until it passed, staring out at the trees like there was something out there she needed to keep an eye on.
“Anyone can die. Everyone does die.” She looked into Ugly’s eyes and looked so very much like a girl lost in the woods. “I know I shouldn’t break the rules, but before I die, I’d like to live a little, with you, if that’s alright.”
Ugly felt like she’d been thrown down a mountain and drowned in the sea, but she still made her body reach out and pull Niibin into a tight embrace.
Every part of her complained about it. Her ribs. Her neck. The whole side of her head, which throbbed so hard that the trees swam. She held on anyway. For a moment Niibin stayed stiff, the book still clutched in one hand—and then all at once she gave, and her forehead dropped onto Ugly’s collarbone, and she shook. Hardly a sound at all. Just the shaking, and her breath coming hot and ragged through the wool of Ugly’s coat, and the cold seeping up through their knees while neither of them moved to get up.
They stayed like that until the light had shifted on the snow, and the shaking stopped.
Ugly stepped back and crossed her arms across her chest, frowning at the scene. Niibin joined her, finger tapping her lips as she studied it carefully.
“We’re going to die of exposure,” said Ugly.
“It looks that way, yes,” said Niibin, a second before their rudimentary shelter collapsed back into the pile of sticks and branches it was always destined to be. It wouldn’t have been big enough for the two of them anyway—not even for one, lying down—and there had been so many holes in it, it wouldn’t have done a thing against a late-winter snowstorm. It was a mercy it had fallen apart so soon…but with the sun drifting ever lower on the horizon, it was also a bad omen.
“There are some things books just don’t prepare you for,” sighed Niibin, gathering up the bigger sticks. “Like building traps. And shelter. And all other things related to surviving in the wilderness by yourself.”
Ugly grinned at her. “You should write one. If we survive.”
That earned a laugh. “Specialty in sticks. My grandmother would be so proud.” She looked around, like a thought had just occurred to her: “We really need to find a place to build a fire. I don’t want to be out here, exposed, when the wolves start roaming.”
Ugly checked their surroundings, too, but all she could see for miles was snow, trees, and the fading light. Pine, mostly, black-trunked and close together, with the odd birch standing out pale between them. The snow under them had gone grey and pitted with the thaw, crusted on top and rotten underneath, and already freezing back into a glaze as the sun went. The cold had the dampness of late winter in it, the kind that didn’t bite so much as soak in and stay. The closest hill was too far to reach before it was dark, and the only cave she saw was the one they were very deliberately avoiding.
The cold would be manageable; they had enough blankets to keep from freezing, even if they’d end up soaking wet by morning. The sky seemed clear enough that snow and rain weren’t an immediate concern. But Niibin was right: the wolves were going to find them, and without Thunderbum nearby, there would be nothing to stop a midnight strike. It wasn’t just a matter of comfort: if they didn’t get this right—and soon—they would be in very real danger.
“There,” she said, pointing at a nearby hill. It wasn’t especially high, and looked more like someone had piled a mound of dirt on a giant sleeping bear—not to mention the fact that it seemed to be bearing the brunt of the bitter wind… But it might just work. It stood clear of the trees on every side, so nothing could come at them without crossing open snow first, and it was small enough that two people might ring the top of it with stakes before the night was out. “We’ll make a camp there.”
Niibin frowned at the mound, and then at Ugly. “Looks like an altar. For a sacrifice.”
“Or the beginnings of a fort,” said Ugly, and picked up a bundle of sticks. “Time to build some defenses.”
She was still woozy, and her body felt drained of all energy, but she forced herself to work through the pain and numbness as she and Niibin scoured the forest for tree branches that were down or ready enough to come loose. It would have been easier a few weeks earlier, when things were still frozen stiff, but there were enough half-dead trees around that gave way with a little pulling, until the base of the rise was littered with wooden shards, waiting for their final purpose.
Ugly stood at the top, a few feet above Niibin, and smacked the ground with a sturdier stick. The dirt beneath the thin layer of wind-blasted snow was frozen, but with some trying, it gave way a little. She was able to dig in a decent ways before running into rock.
“Now we dig,” she said. “Right here.”
“Graves?” asked Niibin, warily.
“Trenches. To block the wind. Come on, find a big branch and help me before it gets too cold.”
It didn’t take long for them to learn how to loosen the dirt effectively, and to nudge it around a little. But the branches weren’t shovels, and they needed to clear the space, not just make it mushy to stand on. Every jab jarred up through Ugly’s arms and straight into her skull. The frozen crust came away in chunks the size of a fist, and under it the earth was cold and wet and full of roots that wouldn’t give no matter how hard they hacked at them. Ugly had been trying to avoid using her bare hands—they were already freezing, and this would only make it worse—but there was no time left. The forest was darkening fast, and every time she paused to catch her breath, she swore she heard wolves howling.
She knelt down and started pushing the dirt away from the centre, out towards the edges of the trench they’d dug. It was tricky and messy and not especially effective. Within minutes there was grit packed under every fingernail and the skin across her knuckles had split, and she couldn’t tell anymore whether the wet on her hands was meltwater or blood. Niibin sat down next to her, and used her feet instead. It wasn’t tidy, but it worked—Ugly mimicked the motion, and together, sitting back-to-back, they started to carve out the crater that would be their bed for the night.
“Reminds me of Damascus,” said Niibin.
“You’ve been to Damascus?”
“No. Read about it. 1401. Big year for Damascus.”
“What happened?” asked Ugly, shifting slightly to push from another angle.
“The city was besieged. Some people ran, some people fought, and some people stayed low to the ground, to ride out the storm.”
The last of the sun had gone off the tops of the pines. Somewhere not too far away, a wolf howled. It was clear this time, and real. Time was running out.
“Did it work?” asked Ugly, kicking the dirt away faster now. “Did they ride out the storm?”
Niibin switched to her knees and pushed the last bits away with her hands, patting them against the sides until the thing looked vaguely solid. Vaguely safe.
“No,” she said. “They all died. Pretty horrifically, too. Gruesome sight, apparently.” She scrunched up her face. “I forget why I thought this would be a good story to tell.”
Ugly got to her feet and helped Niibin up, too. “This won’t be Damascus,” she said. “For one thing, it’s too cold.”
“I can see that,” said Niibin, rubbing Ugly’s arm—and suddenly a tremendous shiver ran through her and her teeth started chattering, like Niibin’s touch had made her aware of how cold she was. “Your lips are turning blue.”
More howls, and not too far away at all.
“W-we have to make f-fortifications,” said Ugly. “Barricades. S-spiked sticks facing out and—”
“We have to build a fire before you freeze to death,” said Niibin. “I’m not hiding up here with a corpse all night. Come on, bring everything up.”
They hurried down the slope, gathering up as much wood as they could carry at once and carting it back up. It took them each five rounds to get everything clear—blankets, trinkets and all—before they were finally able to take a moment to rest.
Ugly was still cold, but it bothered her less, after all the exertion. But the longer she stayed put, the more the shivering came back; Niibin was right, they had to warm up, soon.
“I’ll start the fire, if you can sharpen the branches,” said Ugly, searching for the smaller bits of wood and detritus in the piles. It was getting harder and harder to see—the sky was nearly completely dark now—but she managed to find enough to start.
Niibin was making good progress with the sharpening: with quick and skilled motions with the knife, she had made a half-dozen spears, and was starting on a seventh.
“Do both ends,” said Ugly, as she built the sticks into a proper bundle for burning. “It will be easier to dig them into the ground.”
“And take twice as long to prepare…” grumbled Niibin, but got down to it anyway.
Ugly was just about done when she heard, very clearly, a growling from somewhere nearby. And then more growling, and more, until it was all she heard.
“Flint!” she whispered to Niibin, urgently. “Pass the flint!”
“Thunderbum lost the flint!” said Niibin. “Do it the other way.” She made a motion of rubbing her hands together rapidly.
“How?”
They needed the fire, more than ever. Fire would scare the wolves back a little, and give them time to prepare.
“Switch!” said Niibin, rushing over and grabbing a pair of sticks up, with some dried leaves at the base. She started twisting the stick back and forth, back and forth, until a little puff of smoke crept up into the air.
Ugly gasped in joy as the leaves started to burn.
Niibin glared at her. “We’re still going to need the spears. Get carving!”
She was right; Ugly grabbed hold of one of the branches, angling it so she had a good grip, and then picked up the knife and—
“Ah!” she yelped, pulling her hand back like she’d been burned. The knife clattered to the ground, drawing Niibin’s attention.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
Ugly stared at the knife, at her hand, at the feeling of dread rushing through her, and she barely caught her breath enough to whisper: “I’m sorry,” before she climbed over the edge and ran down into the forest.