I hummed back, comforted by his voice as he talked, the words only barely computing. Smoke. Just a wisp. Maybe. And that was our hope—a tiny tendril of vapor that Dane wasn’t entirely sure was real. But it was a small something. And that was better than nothing at all.
And I’d come to realize that any hope . . . no matter how small, no matter how unlikely, was just that: a wisp of smoke in the misty distance that you headed toward no matter the cost to get there.
And that’s what we would do. Together.
But right now it hurt too much to move. Dane wrapped his arms around me tightly, trapping my arms to my sides. I felt like a burrito.
“I’m going to buy you a burrito when we get back,” I murmured.
He smiled, though his eyes were filled with feverish sadness. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, his teeth chattering. “And then I’m going to marry you.”
“You already did that once.”
“I know, but I’m going to do it right this time.”
“We’re going to do it right this time,” I murmured on what I hoped was a smile. But was my face so frozen it wasn’t cooperating? No idea.
“We are,” he agreed.
I nodded, my eyes closing, my body giving way to sleep, the cold no longer permeating my entire being.
The sound of metal on rock followed soon after. Sounds of retching pricked at my consciousness and I tried to pull myself from the blessed nothingness of sleep, but couldn’t. Dane was here. It was okay. I could let go for a while. And so I drifted again . . . falling, jerking awake and then falling again, my body a heavy weight my brain had no control over. Sometime later, Dane shook me awake. “Open your mouth, Audra, and swallow this. Don’t chew. Just swallow. And then I’m going to give you a drink of water.”
My stomach clenched in hopeful agony at the thought of food and I forced my eyes open. Food? Where had Dane gotten food?
“What is it?” I murmured groggily, opening my mouth.
His hand paused in its movement toward my face and he said simply, “Liver.”
I sucked in a small breath, glancing behind him at one of the things he’d tossed over the cliff before he’d descended. The dead wolf, now lying in a pool of blood, his stomach cut open with the sharpened piece of metal. “Oh God,” I moaned before Dane’s fingers came to my lips. Despite being sick with horror and disgust, my body wasn’t going to refuse food, so my mouth opened of its own accord, taking the still-warm, slimy piece of meat inside and swallowing quickly. Dane brought the water bottle to my lips immediately and I drank in long sips before he took it away.
I ate three more pieces of raw liver that way and though it was one of the most awful things I’d ever experienced, my body rallied almost immediately with the fresh meat now taking up room in my stomach. “It has lots of iron in it,” Dane said numbly. “You need it.”
“Are you going to eat some?” I asked.
He wrapped the remainder of the meat in a piece of cloth—some item of clothing or another—and put it in his pocket, standing and swaying for a minute on his feet before steadying himself. “I tried. My body rejected it. I’ll try again later. I got some water down.” With that, he put the duffle bag over one shoulder, and I saw that while I’d been sleeping, he’d fashioned two straps with the leather rope that had fallen from the cliff along with him and attached them to either corner of the front of the carpet. Our sled. Each strap was then wrapped around his shoulders so his back and arms were taking my weight.
And so we began the journey toward that small wisp of hope.
At first Dane’s steps were slow—though mostly steady—as I stared at the silver sky, sometimes through breaks in trees, and sometimes unobstructed. We went over small hills, down valleys, through woods, and around obstacles in our path. Several times Dane stopped, still dripping sweat, his expression woozy, his eyes glazed with fever, to lower me over small cliffs using the leather strap. Then he would jump down himself, taking longer each time to orient himself, getting me situated again and continuing on our way.
At night we stopped and took shelter among the trees. Dane laid half on top of me, his overheated body keeping me warm as he shivered and moaned in pain through the deep, dark of the night. I cried as I held him. He was asleep or barely conscious. We talked sometimes, I think, though it’s hard
to say whether the words were in my mind or on my lips.
My makeshift bandage had bled through and I watched the trail of scarlet left in our wake. I was woozy from blood loss, from fear, from lack of food and sleep. But I choked down the pieces of meat Dane fed me when we stopped and that small bit of energy may have been the thing keeping me conscious. The hateful creature had tried to take, but had ended up giving after all, though it was difficult to be grateful under the circumstances.
Dane walked, pulling me behind him, for three days, maybe four. I counted the sunrises, though I was so weak by then, I couldn’t be sure. I drifted. I talked to Theo, half in this world, and half in the next. I felt as though I were drowning.
Dane had been lurching for hours, stopping and then starting again, holding on to trees and then pushing himself forward, picking up his legs with his hands a few times as if to make them remember how to work. I knew I should be afraid, but I couldn’t muster the feeling. I felt the earth slipping away too, felt myself falling. Yet, there was no fear.
Dane fell to his knees on one final yell of rage and grief. I reached my hand back to him, my fingers falling in the cold snow, the blood still seeping from my arm. How much had I lost? Buckets? Gallons? Too much. Far too much to survive. I knew. I knew.
I tilted my head as Dane crawled toward me, each movement a grunt of Herculean effort. He bent over me, to shield me with his body. His final act, to protect me. I brought my hand to his face and attempted to smile, though the edges of reality were closing in.
You must bloom, Audra.
“You’re . . . like . . . the tree,” I whispered. And I was the flower. I’d pushed through the snow to see the warmth of the sun. How could it be that I had bloomed on this cold, desolate mountain? And yet, I had. I’d danced with butterflies, admitted to the love I carried in my heart, and then I’d set it free. I’d grieved the loss of my beloved boy. Finally. I’d loved. Yes, yes, I’d bloomed. A field of vividly colored flowers opened up before me, the breeze warm and gentle across my skin. I reached for it. It was time to go—to be with Theo. It was okay. For both of us, it was okay. I closed my eyes on a breath of thanks, as Dane’s weight fell over me one final time.