7 February 2012

Breakfast was done, pots cleaned up and everyone reclining around the fire, and neither Bud nor Susan wanted to be the one to bring it up, this matter which they had silently agreed to broach as they’d sat watching Einar struggle with his meal. Bud finally took the initiative, turning to Einar and getting his attention with a good-natured fist to the shoulder.

“Look, I know we’ve made this offer before, mentioned about my house and how you kids’re welcome there anytime you want to come, but at this point we can really only stick around here for a few more days, so there can’t be any more beating around the bush. You coming with us, or not?”

Einar’s eyes were flat, emotionless, his voice carefully controlled. “Already discussed this. We’re not.”

Kilgore snorted, turned to Liz. Never had been the diplomatic type, and wasn’t about to start being. If Asmundson wouldn’t listen, maybe his lady would. “Mighty high, forsaken place to be raising a baby all winter, all by your lonesome…”

Einar was on his feet, eyes looking a bit wild as he glanced at the tunnel but he wasn’t going anywhere, had every intention of standing his ground as he faced the tracker, spear in hand--necessary, perhaps, to help his balance and prevent him toppling over but also a formidable weapon, especially in such an enclosed space--and Susan could feel the tension in the room, danger level rising. Fool men. If they go ahead and kill each other as they look so much inclined to do, we’ll just have to walk out on our own, Liz and the baby and I…

“Einar, please. We don’t mean any disrespect by this. I know this is your home and I see how well you’ve fixed it up and provided for your little family. It’s wonderful. They’re all set for the winter, and you couldn’t have done a better job setting things up for the baby and making sure they’d have everything they needed, but you, yourself are having a real struggle right now. It may not be obvious to you, but it sure is to Bud and I, and with your permission we just want to help you get to a place where you’ll be better able to carry on, out here.”

“Life’s a struggle. Never asked for it to be anything else.”

“Sure, Asmundson,” Kilgore spoke up, “but what the lady’s really trying to say is, you’re dying. Right now, right in front of us all, falling apart and dying. Be surprised if you make it two weeks, the way things’re going. You’re strong and resilient and stubborn as heck and all that, able to resist to the end and right on through it, and I appreciate it, know that stuff’s served you well and wouldn’t ask you to change it a bit, but you’re also flesh and blood, and your flesh and blood are failing you, man. Right now. Nearing the end. Can’t eat, can’t afford not to eat, would probably get your head all messed up and deliberately quit again in a few days even if you did manage to get some good meals in you, and you’re just not gonna make it unless something changes, real big and real fast. Now what we’re suggesting, to get specific, is that we help you get this place all sealed up and winterized so it’ll be here when you get back, then take you out with us to the spot where we’re supposed to meet Kiesl and his plane about five days from now. He’ll pick us up and head straight down there for Arizona, and my house. Where you can stay for as long as you need and want to, and no longer, at which time Roger drops the three of you right back into your basin same way he did with us. That’s the deal. Pretty good deal, if you think about it.”

Einar was angry, wanted out, needed to get outside as much for Kilgore’s sake as his own, but the man was sitting directly in front of the tunnel, wouldn’t move. “Where’re you going, Asmundson? Out there to sit in the snow, finish the job you started earlier on your fingers, maybe? Freezing yourself within an inch of your life, which I have no doubt wouldn’t take long at all right now, might make you feel better for a while but it’s no substitute for rational thought and honest discussion, don’t you think? Now how about you stick around for a minute, and give me some answers?”

“Already given you the answer. Nothing’s changed.”

Susan could see things going downhill in a hurry, was on her feet, retrieving her snowshoes and handing Bud’s pair to him, suggesting the two of them go out for a little walk. Einar and Liz, she knew, needed some time alone, a chance to talk things over if there was to be any chance whatsoever of their proposal being given any consideration, and Kilgore fortunately heeded her, getting into his snow things and following her out through the tunnel. Alone with Liz and the baby all the fight went out of Einar, legs buckling and dumping him on the floor beside the bed. Liz squeezed his shoulder, tried to rub a bit of the tension out of his back and offered him some water, but it just made him cough and splutter and nearly gag.

“What do you think? They’re right, you know, about something having to change… You’re trying so hard, I can see it, but sometimes…well, there might not be any harm in considering their idea.”

Einar might have been angry with her too, after that, had he possessed the energy, but he did not, simply laid his head in her lap and allowed her to drape the bear hide around his shoulders. “I can’t trust Kilgore. Some of the things he said yesterday morning when he was trying to wake me up out of that…slump I’d fallen into. Can’t trust him at all.”

Which seemed to Liz a convenient way to change the subject, but she figured she might as well go along with it, at least for a moment. See where it might lead. “I still don’t understand what that was all about. What did he say?”

Suddenly sitting bold upright, all sign of weariness gone, Einar drew away from her and pressed himself against the wall, arms clasped around his knees as he stared up at the ceiling. “He…the words are immaterial, but I knew them. Had heard them before, that exact accent and inflection, same questions repeated over and over, day after day until I heard them in my sleep and still do, sometimes… Some things you just don’t forget. There’s no reason he should have known those words, those questions, certainly no reason on earth why he ought to have known to deliver them with that odd Russian twist to the local accent--and sometimes local words, too; it wasn’t all in English--he was using…like a man who had learned his English from a Russian-speaker. Just like one of my interrogators, the officer who seemed to be running things there at that camp during my ‘visit…’ Evil little man, really seemed to enjoy his job. How could Kilgore have known him, known to speak like him, words, accent, all of it?”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting…”

“Me either! Just that something’s not right, and it’s got me all off balance and questioning who he really is, where he was and what he knows.”

Liz was quiet for a moment, needing to say something but not wanting Einar to take it the wrong way, to think she was doubting him. “Is there any chance…I mean, you were in and out of consciousness all morning, having a pretty hard time, and I’m wondering if there’s any chance you might have dreamed parts of it?”

“No. I know what I heard. He was talking to me.”

“I know he was talking to you. I saw him. And I heard him tell Susan he’d said something that was sure to disturb you, just to try and keep you from slipping further into unconsciousness. But the accent and all…is it possible your mind latched onto whatever he was saying, and added things? Got your memories all tangled up with whatever it was he really said?”

Einar looked uncertain for a brief moment, doubtful, but shook his head. “Not a chance of it. Not even a chance. He knows things. Can’t trust him.”

“Well, let’s ask him about it.”

“I did! He wouldn’t say much.”

“Maybe that’s because you were going at his head with a heavy chunk of spruce wood at the time, if I’m remembering correctly… Seems only the sudden appearance of Muninn saved him from his fate.”

Einar rubbed the back of his neck, studied a coal that had been spit out of the stove, pressing it into the dirt of the floor and nodding. “Yeah, that may have been the case. Guess I’d be willing to try again asking him.” Which wasn’t the same, exactly, as saying that he might consider Kilgore’s proposal, was potentially disastrous even, depending on what Kilgore might reveal, but at least it seemed to Liz a possible step in the right direction.

6 February 2012

Despite pain that had grown rather intense as his fingers finished thawing--at least if they hurt, if means they’re alive--Einar was confident that the damage had been minimal; most of them, upon careful inspection, did not even appear as if they were going to blister, and it was a good thing. He sure couldn’t afford to temporarily lose the use of his hands, just then. Wasn’t too pleased with himself for having allowed the injury to take place at all, wanted to tell himself that it could have happened to anyone, becoming disoriented and turned around in whiteout conditions and wandering a bit longer than one intended in finding the way back, but he knew the situation had been dramatically worsened by the fact that he was so starved and depleted as to be barely able to maintain a tenable body temperature under normal, sheltered conditions, let alone out in a howling storm such as the one that gripped the basin that morning. The resulting poor circulation had endangered his fingers, hypothermia muddling his thoughts and slowing his responses far more rapidly than it would have been able to do under other circumstances, and he felt rather foolish about the entire thing at the moment, angry at himself for having willingly put himself in such straits. Didn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense, though he knew there were times when it must have, or he wouldn’t have kept at it with such drive and determination. Well. A strange thing, the human mind, but he had little time to muse on its convolutions just then; breakfast was nearly ready. All he had left was to season the gravy using some of the wild garlic leaves Liz had dried during the summer and saved, that, and perhaps a tiny sprinkle of the black pepper Susan had brought Liz, along with her other gifts. It was a rare and precious substance--no wonder in ancient times spices were such a source of revenue, their sourcing, trading and transport the inspiration for so much travel and exploration--but he supposed they could probably spare a tiny bit to enhance the gravy. Only trouble was that he could barely use his hands, fingers proving less than dexterous between the frostbite damage and Liz’s careful treatment and bandaging of several of the fingers. Kilgore saw his difficulty, snatched the pepper container away from him and got it open.

“Where’re you heading with this thing, and I’ll do it for you? Wanting to put some in the breakfast, or sprinkle it in your eyes just to compliment the sting of those fingers and give yourself something else to focus on? ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to get it wrong, and put the stuff in the wrong place…”

“Gravy. I was heading for the gravy. Though the other doesn’t sound too bad, either.”

“Yeah, figured. Well, maybe if there’s some left when we get done spicing up the breakfast…”

“You know me too well, Kilgore. Got to get out of here. Not room for the two of us in this little place.”

“You turning me out into the storm, Asmundson? Me and my new bride, and in the middle of our honeymoon, too?”

“Didn’t say a thing about your bride, did I? If the raven can get by out there in the storm, so can you. Just find yourself a tree, and perch. You’ll make it.”

“Aw now if you insist, I guess this is your home and I got to do like you say, so out into a tree it is…” but he made no move to leave, sprinkling pepper into the gravy and chuckling, Einar laughing with him as Liz grabbed him and steered him back over to the bed, fussing over his fingers and the damage he’d done to her bandaging job by prying and poking at the pepper container in his efforts to get it open. Nothing that couldn’t be repaired, but she admonished him not to make her do it again.

Einar’s breakfast of rabbits and gravy had come along quite nicely despite--or perhaps because of--his having to abandon it to Susan’s care more than once while Liz tended to his frostbitten fingers, everyone gathering around the fire when it was finished and sharing in an abundance of meat and gravy that well suited the cold, gusty morning. Will was quieter that morning, having tired himself out, it seemed, with his restlessness in the night, and after having his own breakfast he allowed Susan to hold him while Liz ate, thoroughly enjoying the departure from their regular fare of soups and stews and doing her best to see to it that Einar got his share of the meal despite what appeared to her to be fairly serious ongoing difficulties when it came to swallowing his food without choking on it. Hungry, still thoroughly chilled and wanting to partake of the feast he had initially taken a few bites on his own, scarfing them down but soon setting his portion aside when he nearly gagged on a chunk of meat. Liz, not wanting to see him give up so easily, had taken it upon herself to pick through his bowl of rabbit and gravy, handing him small bites and encouraging him to try them, and to her surprise he seemed willing to go along with the arrangement. A pleasant surprise, even if it was not to last, but his apparent deterioration worried her--perhaps, she wanted to tell herself, he was just tired after a long, sleepless night and his long, cold wander out in the storm, but she knew there was more to it--left her concerned that just as Einar was showing more of an inclination to make the effort needed to get himself turned around and doing better, physically, he was reaching a point where he quite literally might not be able to do so.

She tried to set the worry aside. No point fretting over any of it. He was, for the moment, making the effort, and that was the main thing. The thing she’d been unable to talk him into doing, but perhaps seeing and spending time with his son, seeing firsthand the reality of a new little life who was depending on him…perhaps that was finally providing him with the motivation he needed to get things turned in the right direction. She offered him another bite of rabbit gravy, waited patiently as he worked to get it down. Success. His willing compliance was rather unfamiliar, strange, and she hoped he wasn’t simply too cold and weary to remember that he was supposed to be putting up a good deal of resistance. Just in case, she determined to get as much of that meal into him as she could, before he finished warming. Though fairly well wrapped up in enjoying their own breakfast and in keeping an eye on the little one--Kilgore had somehow ended up holding Will, sat there looking awkward and out of place with the tiny person cradled gingerly in his big, rough hands, but beaming as he opened his eyes and looked up--Bud and Susan noticed Einar’s difficulty, exchanging meaningful glances and nodding. Definitely time to have a serious talk with the two of them, bring everything out in the open and lay out some options, but neither of them had the heart to do it while the meal was ongoing; best let him eat first, what little he was able, while he seemed willing to do it. There would be plenty of time for talk later that day, storm raging on and the little cabin snug and warm with the glow of the fire.

5 February 2012

With Einar’s fingers looking all white and waxy and the reality plain to everyone but himself, Liz insisted upon thawing them for him before he went on with his breakfast preparations or did much of anything else, Susan concurring that such sounded like a very wise idea and Bud offering to hold him down while the two of them took care of it. Einar didn’t like the sound of that, still did not understand what the fuss could be all about--sure, his fingers were a little cold, all of him seemed to be more than a bit chilly, when it came to that, but he hadn’t been out there that long, few minutes, at the most, and he’d be fine--but the three of them were so persistent and he beginning to feel so terribly dizzy and confused as the warmth of the stove crept over him that at last he ceased protesting, sat still and allowed Liz to submerge one of his hands in a pot of lukewarm water that felt as if it might as well be scalding the flesh from his fingers. He showed no reaction to the pain, which Liz, having herself gone through a similar experience the winter before, knew had to be quite significant, but did rise as soon as she turned her back--Will was demanding his breakfast--shake his hand dry and return to his breakfast preparations. Kilgore was having none of it, wanted to knock him in the head and shove his hand back into the water but Einar insisted he was fine, had done his best to try and keep his hands warm while out fetching the breakfast.

“Didn’t work too well, did it,” the tracker snorted, nodding at the pot of warm water in a very strong suggestion that Einar get back over there and continue the warming.

“Pressed…hands against my stomach now and then, usually works, you know, but couldn’t seem to…get much benefit from it today. Stomach…not much warmer than anything else.”

“Well, it’s no wonder. Surely you got to realize, man, that your core temperature’s got to be chronically low right now, real, real low, so your body just don’t have anything to spare on warming your hands or feet--or your skin, for that matter. Draws everything into the core in a desperate attempt to keep you from freezing solid, and it’s a wonder you’re warm at all, everything considered. A wonder you’re alive. Now get over here and let your lady finish fixing your fingers for you, so you don’t end up losing any of ’em. One thing to have that happen when a batch of home-made mercury fulminate goes horribly wrong somewhere along the line in the cooking stage, but another entirely to lose them to preventable frostbite. Come on, man. Use your head.”

Einar glowered at the tracker, pointing out that “never have I lost one to any such accident, if you haven’t noticed. Never been so careless, and you see, I’ve still got them all.”

“So keep it that way.” And without any warning Kilgore brought Einar to his knees with a vicious kick to the ribs, Liz--having handed the baby over to Susan after a quick feeding--hurrying in and planting herself firmly beside him as he struggled for breath, both hands on one arm as she held his hand once more beneath the water. This time, Einar made no protest. Did keep working on breakfast, though, fairly cheerful as soon as he’d got his breath back from Kilgore’s blow. Ribs still ached pretty badly at times, and Bud had managed to nearly overwhelm the hurt of Einar’s thawing hands with their renewed burning, and the distraction seemed to help, Einar using one hand or another, whichever Liz wasn’t holding under the water at the moment, chopping the rabbits and getting them simmering with bear fat and flour to make the gravy he had imagined. After a time the hurt of his thawing fingers began to get to him a bit despite his cheerful attitude and willingness to work, eyes glazing over and taking on that far-away look and face showing the strain, Liz taking him firmly by the arm and leading him over to the bed where she continued warming his fingers--and the rest of him, for he remained seriously chilled from his time in the snow and wind--drying them, dressing the two that looked inclined to blister in balm of Gilead ointment and gauze from Kilgore’s medical kit while Susan laid little Will, fast asleep, in his basket, tending to the breakfast as she continued the work which Einar had started.

Susan had brought a hair brush up amongst the other gifts she had included for Liz, and Liz had been using it to great advantage on her own somewhat matted hair, finding it a good bit easier to use than the roughly improvised comb she had some time ago created for herself. Sitting there with Einar as he finished warming from his time out in the storm, she saw a good opportunity to try the device on him--had been a good long while since he’d encountered any such, and it was showing, he barely had the energy to keep up with his day-to-day tasks, let alone extras like that--but despite the daze in which he remained, cold and exhausted and hurting, Einar objected, scooting off the bed and away from Liz as soon as she began the attempt. She went after him, tried to talk him back up onto the bed but he eluded her grasp, pressing himself up against the wall where he made an almost comical sight, arms crossed in front of his face and bandaged hands held out as if to defend himself from the onslaught of the brush.

“Whoa, hey, hair’s fine the way it is, and if you do that, it’s like as not to all fall out, anyway.”

“Aw come on Asmundson,” Kilgore spoke up, “you look like a doggone hippie or something the way you are right now. What’ve you got going there, anyway? Dreadlocks? You could have owls and mice and such living in that mess, and never even know about it.”

Einar growled at the tracker, scooted further away and glowered at the two of them, sparing a suspicious glance for Susan when she joined the conspiracy by suggesting that a bath might be in order, as well.

“Oh, don’t even suggest it!” Liz insisted. “His idea of a bath is to chop a hole in the ice and freeze himself half to death in the tarn or the spring, and spend the rest of the day shivering. He’s cold enough as it is. We’d better skip the bath, for now.”

“Well, I did mean a hot bath,” Susan clarified, “but you’ve got a good point…”

“Last time he had a hot bath, I do believe, was in your basement after we smuggled him into the garage in a wheelbarrow full of dirt! They’ve all been cold, since then.”

“You did what?” Kilgore bellowed, feigning outrage. “Never told me about any such incident.”

“No, I never figured you needed to know. You’re the one who’s always talking about ‘need to know,’ and how if a person doesn’t need to know it, you don’t need to be telling it, putting everyone at risk…”

“A strange man taking a bath in my wife’s basement sounds like something I need to know, now don’t you think?”

“Oh, he’s strange alright, but not much stranger than you. And his wife was with him at the time, if you must know…”

“Yeah, I figured. Just giving you a hard time.”

Liz let the entire matter drop and so did Kilgore, wandering over to the baby where he was sleeping and examining the single wolverine claw Einar had tied around his neck on the day of his birth.

“Kid’s killed his frist wolverine already, has he?”

Einar looked up sharply. “Not yet, but he will.”

“Might want to try waiting a year or two on that one, Asmundson. Till the critter’s big enough to stand some chance of making it through the encounter.”

“Oh, I figure we’ll wait ‘till he’s three or four, maybe.”

“Ah, three or four. Time to become a man, huh? Well, most primitive cultures had their customs, trials and ordeals to initiate the young into manhood, and I guess I ought to have figured it wouldn’t be too much different here in your little mountain tribe.”

“They may have been primitive, some of those cultures, but seems to me a lot more civilized than what we do nowadays, just throwing folks out there without any preparation, any hardening, and let come what may. World is what it is, and it’s not all pretty. Best start young, I figure, in giving them legs to stand on when it comes to meeting that reality.”

Kilgore nodded--sounded good to him, only merciful thing to do, only way to go--cast a furtive glance at Liz, who appeared slightly disturbed at the thought of potentially sending her little son off on his own to slay a wolverine in a few short years, but only slightly. The life had rubbed off on her, he supposed, the reality of what it took to make and maintain a life up in a hard, harsh environment such as they one they had chosen, and to do so under the constant pressure of knowing one is hunted, the subject of a massive search which might or might not eventually end…yeah, that’s enough to give anyone a pretty different outlook on life, for sure.

4 February 2012

No chapter today, but I will be back with another tomorrow. Thanks to all of you who are reading, and I hope you're having a good weekend!

3 February 2012

Liz, tired after having her sleep disturbed several times in the night by little Will’s restlessness and sleeping warm and comfortable that morning beneath the bear hides, had not heard Einar’s stirring as he prepared to leave the cabin, but Susan had heard, had watched out of the corner of one half-open eye as he prepared to head out into the storm and had been pleased, at first, at the energy with which he seemed to be going about his tasks, that morning. Gave her some hope for him. Now, though, some half hour later and with no sign of his returning, she was beginning to grow terribly concerned that something might have happened to him out there. The wind sounded bad, worse than it had at bedtime, even, and judging from the air that seeped in here and there where a crack had been slightly less thoroughly chinked and insulated--weren’t many of them; the couple had done an admirable job of preparing the place for winter--it had grown terribly cold outside, in the night. She rolled over, carefully sought to wake Kilgore. One had to be somewhat careful about such things, she had quickly learned. Despite Bud’s typical gruff good cheer and the fact that he seemed to have come to terms, somewhat, with the world and his place in it, found some peace over the years, there were still times when he woke all scary and sudden-like with that look in his eyes, that thing she’d seen so many times in her husband, Bill, and Susan knew enough to be very watchful in its presence, very cautious. So she whispered, talking to him until he stirred, grunted, eased into wakefulness and smiled at her, success!

“Einar’s gone, and I’m starting to get worried. Do you think one of us ought to go after him?”

“Gone?” Bud tried to keep his voice to a whisper, not wanting to disturb Liz. “What do you mean, gone? Maybe he’s just curled up in a heap on the floor where we can’t see him. Fella don’t take up too much space, these days.”

“No, I saw him leave. He seemed to have a mission, really be after something. But he hasn’t come back, and it’s so windy out there…”

“Aw, he’ll be alright. If he’s conscious, anyway….” and he pulled the sleeping bag back up around his neck, settled contentedly in on the stuff sack full of spare clothing he was using for a pillow--nice stormy morning, awful pleasant to be here out of the wind, with you, and nowhere to go--and looked ready to go back to sleep but something was bothering him, and before Susan even had a chance to object, he was back up on one elbow, yawning and stretching and preparing to rise. “Yeah, maybe I better go after him. If he’s ended up having another one of his fits or something out there, this wind’ll drift him over so fast that we might not be able to find him at all, later. Not until spring. And that’d be an awful lot of uncertainty for…” he nodded in Liz’s direction, rolled out of the sleeping bag.

Moving carefully so as to hopefully remain on his feet as much as possible and conserve energy--that’s what he told himself, anyway; in reality he was trying very hard not to panic, take off blindly in one direction or another and keep moving until he was too exhausted to go on, thus almost certainly eliminating any chance he had of actually finding the place before he became too slow and stupefied from the cold to remember what he was looking for--Einar made a wide circle around the cache-tree, looking for any sign of his trail but finding nothing, making the next circle wider, still. He was reasonably confident that he knew approximately from which direction he’d come, could determine that by the positioning of the cord which had held the rabbits up in the tree--he’d pulled the thing down, coiled it up and stuck it in a pocket to take back with him, but could remember, he was pretty sure, where it had been--so found himself surprised and somewhat unsettled when finally, after much searching, he found a small section of his trail, sheltered by a series of large boulders and left untouched by the wind. Opposite where he’d expected to find it.

Wow, you’re really turned around, Einar. Hadn’t figured you could get so badly mixed up right out here in your own front yard, but that snow is coming down awfully hard, blowing sideways… Had it happen before up on a high, desolate ridge for sure, whiteout conditions and not a landmark anywhere to see or even feel, but here in the woods…not doing so well, are you? No matter. You’ve got it, now. Best get moving. Starting to get mighty cold, again. Move he did, body bent low into the wind and free hand groping forward in his earlier trail, seeking its continuance but not terribly surprised when once again the depression ended up entirely drifted over with blown snow. No matter. Knew where he was now, abandoning the uncertain trail and walking straight ahead towards a shadowy shape which he was convinced must be the cabin, only to find himself running headlong into a jutting outcrop of solid, icy rock. He pounded on the thing, trying, perhaps, to restore some feeling to his hand. Wasn’t working, and he sat down in the snow with his back to the wall--a bit of shelter, at least, from the angry, tearing force of the wind--and stuck both hands under his parka, pressing them, wooden, insensible, to stomach and ribs in an attempt to find some warmth.

Well. Didn’t expect this. But if I’m up against the cliff, then that must mean the cabin’s behind me. Guess I passed it, somehow. So if I walk straight that way…straight out from the cliff, well, looks like I’ve got to run straight into the back of the cabin, and pretty soon. Good thing. Think I’m starting to get a little chilly, here… On his feet again, movements slow and stumbling as he tried his best to walk straight, hoping to come up against the cabin but it had been too long, too far, and there was nothing but snow, deep, drifted snow and the occasional fallen tree to trip him up.

Einar was beginning to grow a bit concerned, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he was getting into some serious trouble with the cold and not liking the fact that it was happening right there so near the cabin that he would almost certainly be able to see the thing, had the snow not been blowing so furiously. Ridiculous. Didn’t want to die this way, not with the breakfast rabbits slung over his back and so much still left to do, and the anger warmed him just a bit, sped up his movements--hadn’t really got that far since leaving the cliff, it had only seemed so due to the painful slowness of his steps, time twisted and distorted around him--and then he felt a presence over to his left, couldn’t see anything but groped in its direction, making contact with something solid. Wood. Not a tree trunk but something larger, and in sweeping his arms over the thing in a clumsy effort to brush from it part of its snow cover and reveal its shape, he found it to be the back of the woodshed, unbelievably welcome sight, and he followed it, leaning heavily on the series of upright timbers, afraid to break contact and certain that he would fall without that support as he worked his way around to the back of the cabin, dropping to hands and knees there in front of the tunnel mouth.

Inside the wind was gone, blessed, blessed relief and Einar wanted to lie down right then and there, and sleep, and might have, had it not been for breakfast. Meal needed to be made, and he had the rabbits. Had to get them inside, thawing, gravy simmering, crawled a foot or two but things were growing awfully uncertain around him, world narrowing and then the door opened, Kilgore’s bulky frame appearing in the glow of the firelight inside.

“What’re you doing out here, Asmundson? Starting to wonder if you were coming back, man, wondering if that storm might have swallowed you up out there!”

Einar grinned, relieved laughter getting itself all tangled up in his shaky words and rendering them rather less than clear. “Just…getting breakfast.” With which he shoved the rabbits in Kilgore’s direction and promptly collapsed on the tunnel floor, the tracker grabbing him by both arms and hauling him towards the open door.

“Getting breakfast, you call it? What’d you do, climb up the ridge and down again going after these…what are they, giant snowballs? Squirrels? Rabbits, maybe, that you brought back? Figure it was worth it?”

Einar wanted to answer, intended to do so but the words didn’t seem to be coming too easily at the moment, body all stiff and uncooperative as Kilgore tried to help him to his feet there before the stove, both of them making an effort to keep the commotion to a minimum in an attempt to allow Liz to go on sleeping. Didn’t work; she was awake, out of the bed and at his side, checking his fingers, hurrying him out of snow-encrusted clothes and insisting he soak his hands in a pot of warm water, but Einar just shook his head, grinning, mumbling something about needing to make breakfast for everyone.

2 February 2012

Blasting and howling through the night, an angry wind piled drifts three feet deep in front of the cabin door by the time the sky began lightening with morning, Muninn left to find shelter as well as he could in the branches of his chosen roosting-spruce. Liz had tried to persuade the bird to ride out the storm inside, but he seemed even more averse to spending a night in the cabin with strangers than he did to venturing out into that raging wind--Einar had to admit to a good bit of sympathy for the bird on that point--so had been given his way. Shaking snow from his feathers the raven glanced down at the quiet cabin before tucking his head back beneath a wing, ready to hunker down for the morning. Inside only Einar was awake, sitting slumped over before the fire, knees drawn up to his chest and chin resting on them, arms wrapped tightly around his knobby legs as he seemed to be having a very difficult time staying warm that morning, even there before the stove’s radiant warmth.

Temperatures seemed to have dropped drastically in the night and he supposed he ought to get up and put on his parka, boots, too, as he could barely feel his toes anymore but weariness weighed so heavily on his shoulders that he remained exactly as he was, growing colder and staring half in a trance at the flickering glow of the coals through the slightly cracked stove door. A good three hours previously little Will had ceased the peaceful sleep that Einar had helped him achieve by finding him a comfortable position on his stomach, waking and searching hungrily for milk so that Einar had been compelled to reluctantly return him to Liz for a feeding. The two of them had slept after that, hardly stirring for the remainder of the night and leaving Einar alone to stand his vigil. He’d made it, hardly dozing through the entirety of that long, windy night but now with the approach of daylight he was tired, cold and feeling terribly hollow and empty inside. Liked the hollowness, but knew it probably wasn’t a good thing, at that point. Really ought to think about filling it with broth. And making some breakfast for Liz and the others, while he was at it.

They didn’t have much food in the cabin, not much, aside from the barrel of bear fat and the things Bud and Susan had brought, and at the thought of them his eyes strayed to the beam on which he’d stowed the three precious jars of Nutella given him by Susan, too special to touch, almost, but he greatly enjoyed the sight of them, imagining how the stuff would taste if he were to get into one of those jars, its wonderful texture--soft and creamy when the room was warm, but rather thick and fudge-like in the cold--and the wonder of it pretty nearly brought tears to his eyes. Quit it. Ought to be ashamed of yourself, carrying on like this. Now didn’t you say something about fixing breakfast? Yeah, I thought so. And that means going out there into that storm to one of the cache trees, and lowering some meat. What should we fix this morning? Elk? Sheep? Mountain goat, maybe, or perhaps a nice rabbit or two? Wow, sure is great to have all this variety! A real blessing.

In going over each possibility carefully and very thoroughly in his mind--he was always thorough when it came to food, those days, each detail standing out in sharp relief and seeming almost as real to him in his mind’s eye as it would have had he been eating it, at that moment--he settled at last on a morning meal of rabbit, cooked up carefully in a bit of water so as to make a concentrated broth to which he could add bear fat and a bit of the flour brought by Susan in order to make a fine, flavorful gravy. Sounded good, terribly good, and anxious to begin the preparations and have the meal well under way by the time the others began waking he grabbed his parka and headed out into the tunnel, ready to face the storm.

Deep. It was difficult to judge the actual depth of the snowfall they’d received overnight, considering the drifts and billows in which the wind had deposited the stuff, but he estimated the total to be somewhere upwards of two feet, and the storm showed no sign whatsoever of slacking off. Did not, in fact, allow him to see very far at all, hand halfway obscured at times when he held it out straight in front of him and the nearby trees observable only by the sound the wind made as it rushed through their needles and slammed into thin, flexible trunks, swaying and bending their lithe forms and causing clumps of snow to go careening to the ground, where several of them landed rather unceremoniously on Einar’s head. Huh. Probably should have put the hood up, and he did, but of course it was too late, snow already beginning to melt on his neck and pool up behind his collarbone to trickle coldly down ribs and spine whenever he moved. A good, refreshing way to start the day!

He shivered, hurried as well as he could through the deep drifts to the general area in which he hoped to find the cache-trees. Only to find that he couldn’t see well enough to determine which they were, trying a number of spruces in the hopes that he might recognize their trunks by feel, and by the time he did find one of the wrapped cords that signaled he was on the right track, his hands were numbed and nearly useless with cold. Trampling himself a little spot and crouching in the snow he drew arms into his parka and sought to warm hands by pressing them to his stomach, sides, chest, but he couldn’t find anyplace that seemed particularly warm, so soon gave up on the endeavor. Not a big problem. Hands would still function, for a while, and if they lost all feeling again before he was finished, he could stop for a similar break. Even if he couldn’t feel much warmth in his skin it had to be a good deal warmer than the outside air--and therefore useful--or he wouldn’t be alive, which he definitely was, at least for the moment. With no idea which tree held the four rabbits they had left from the last trapline run and little way to determine the matter, other than to seek out each of the cache-trees, lower their contents and check, Einar decided that breakfast could just as well consist of whatever meat hung in the tree he’d found first, as he was rather hesitant to break contact with it lest he find himself unable to locate it again.

Took him an awfully long time to free the frozen, snow-encrusted cord where it sat wrapped securely around the broken-off remains of a branch, hands nearly frozen again by the time he got the task done and he had to crouch in the snow again, shivering this time, and attempt to warm them before he could do any more. Hands functioning again, in a manner of speaking, he used them to free the last wrap of cordage and allow the meat to slide to the ground beside him--ha! Rabbits! What’re the chances?-- where he remained staring blankly at it for a good minute or two before realizing that he’d better be up and moving, if he wanted some chance of making it back to the cabin before the rest of his body ended up just as numb and useless as the claws that had replaced his hands. Easier said than done. Legs didn’t want to cooperate, the great yawning hollowness that had seized him in the night having grown in the cold and storm until it was a heavy, crushing thing that sapped his strength and left him uncertain of his ability to rise. Had to rise, though, because he had breakfast there slung over his shoulder, and folks would be needing breakfast, and rise he did, bracing himself against the spruce and using an elbow hooked over one of its lower boughs where the thing met the trunk to get himself more or less upright.

Only to find his the deep trench of his earlier trail entirely drifted over, gone. Sense of direction seriously impeded by the whiteout he realized that he had little idea in which direction the cabin might lie, few clues by which to direct himself. Sank to his knees beside the spruce, then, something that might almost have been relief washing over him as he gave in, for the moment, to his weariness. The rest lasted only seconds. No. You’re not going to do this. Cabin’s right over…there, somewhere, and you’re sure not gonna let things end like this, right here in your own front yard and with everyone waiting on breakfast. It’s a cold morning, and they’re gonna be hungry. Now, back on your feet and hunt for that trail. Can’t all be drifted over, not with the amount of timber we’ve got here, all the rock and such to break up the wind’s path. You’ll find the trail, or a piece of it, and it’ll point you back in the right direction.

1 February 2012

Einar did not want to sleep. Knew what the night would likely hold for him should he allow himself the luxury, and in no way wanted to risk such an experience in the presence of Liz and the little one, not to mention their guests. For hours he lay rigidly awake under the bear hide beside Liz, listening to her deep, regular breathing and the baby’s faster and barely audible respirations, the two of them not exactly breathing in concert because of the difference, but still somehow in harmony. He remembered hearing somewhere that sleeping close beside the mother rather than in a separate crib or bed could help reduce chances of an infant’s simply ceasing to breathe in the night, something about the rhythm of the mother’s breaths helping to regulate the baby’s, and he was glad that Liz had shown no inclination to want the little one to sleep separate from her. Would have been an awful hassle, anyway, when it came to eating; as it was, her sleep seemed for the most part minimally disturbed when the little one got hungry. She would simply re-position herself slightly to allow him to get at the milk, then go back to sleep with him in the crook of her arm as he ate, and to Einar, it seemed like a very reasonable and natural arrangement. No getting up in the middle of the night to go to the crib of an infant howling for food and companionship, only to do it all over again a few hours later when the food wore off and he realized he was hungry and alone, again. This way, everyone got more sleep. Aside, of course, from those who chose to remain awake for reasons of their own.

Despite his weariness--worse than weariness; felt as though he could easily close his eyes and never open them again, which he figured probably wasn’t too far from the truth--Einar found wakefulness reasonably easy to maintain that night, chill of the cabin seeping in around him and setting him to trembling where he had pushed back a corner of the bear hide to admit the air, careful to keep it tucked down thoroughly between himself and Liz so as to prevent chilling her, at the same time. Too cold to sleep and glad of it he lay listening to the wind howl and whine in the treetops, thundering down, at times, to pummel the cabin with its fury but finding little admittance; their insulation job had been thorough, and quite a success.

Though sleeping arrangements allowed little Will to eat whenever he grew hungry his quietness did not last the night, a growing restlessness compelling Liz, sometime in the early hours of the morning, to rise and walk with him in order to prevent his wailing, pacing back and forth from bed to water barrel, walking softly so as not to disturb Bud and Susan where they slept cozy in down bags behind the barrel. Einar watched her for a minute or two as she stoked the fire, golden light from the stove’s open door flickering across her face each time she passed it, features soft in the halo of hair that had worked its way loose from her braid in the night and eyes warm and gentle as she stared at the tiny face nestled in its wrappings of rabbitskin. Despite the peaceful appearance of the scene, little Will would resume his high, thin wail again every time Liz stopped moving, and after several minutes of this Einar left the bed, carefully balancing for a moment on its side until a bit of dizziness passed and he was able to stand reliably and without danger of toppling back over again, rubbing badly chilled legs in an attempt to restore some circulation. Quietly he went to Liz, speaking softly so as not to wake the Kilgores.

“My turn. I’ll take him for a while, let you get some more sleep.”

She put a hand on his arm, looking concerned even though he held his breath and tensed all his muscles in an attempt to stop shaking. “You’re cold. Get your parka, and then I’ll hand him over.”

“Nah, I’m alright. I’ll keep the fire going.”

“There’s a pot of broth on the stove from earlier. You need to have some of that if you’re going to carry him.”

“He’s not gonna care one way or another. I’m not his food source.”

“No, but you’re mine, and I’m his, and I want you to be able to stick around here with us for a while, which means eating! And besides, I don’t want you getting all dizzy and tipping over while you’re holding him. So just have the broth. You’ve had some rest now, and ought to be able to get it down. If your legs are working again, hopefully your swallowing muscles are, too.”

“I’ll try.”

“Now. Please…”

Slightly irritated but knowing Liz was right to be concerned about the dizziness--he’d never drop the little guy, not so long as he had any say in the matter, but the way things had been going of late, he knew he might not have much say, if he wasn’t careful--Einar took up the pot and managed a little sip of the stuff before beginning to splutter and cough and having to stop. Was pretty sure the same thing had happened that previous evening when Liz had been trying to feed him the stuff after his unsuccessful attempts at dinner, but couldn’t remember for sure. Things had gone awfully blurry and uncertain there for a while. Frustrated, he tried again, with similar results. Doggone it, Einar. It’s just liquid. Such a simple little thing, and look at you. Couldn’t finish this stuff right now to save your life, could you? Which is kind of a shame, because that might just be what it takes. Well. Little sips. You’ll have it done before morning. Liz, at least, seemed satisfied by his effort, handing him the baby and making certain the rabbitskin blanket was tucked snugly in around him, giving Einar a kiss on the cheek and heading back for bed.

“Come get me if he starts acting hungry, or you need to rest. He seems to like movement, right now.”

Einar nodded, began pacing, speaking softly to the child, voice low and barely audible. “Yeah, I know where you’re coming from, little one. Sometimes I like movement, too, and nothing else will do. Nothing at all. You just wait a year or two until you’re on your feet and walking, and then we’ll really cover some ground together, the two of us. Lot of ground to cover. Lots to see in this big old world. You sleep now, yeah, that’s right. Everybody wants to sleep, and they can’t do it with you up and howling like a gut-shot coyote all the time. What’s your trouble, anyway? Frustrated that you can’t get up and move, on your own? Yeah, I’d understand that one, for sure. But I don’t think that’s it. Not yet. Too little yet to know what you’re missing, there. And you can’t be hungry, because she’s already tried that. Wonder if…yeah, here you go…” and he turned the child over onto his stomach, supporting his body along the length of an arm bent at the elbow, and at once little Will quieted, sleeping. Well, you just never know…