Mountain Refuge

[FOTH]

Mountain Refuge (from 16 March forward; archive can be found here: freedomofthehills.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=mountainrefuge&action=display&thread=11 )

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Finding three small aspens Einar leaned them against the woodshed for future use in constructing the smoking frame, returning to the cabin to check on his pots of heating water. Water was hot, and he plopped several chunks of raw bearfat into each, crouching against the wall as he waited for them to begin melting. He wanted to hurry back outside and assemble the smoker while the fat melted, but knew from past experience that it would be unwise to leave the stuff unattended on the stove. Last thing they needed was splattering, smoking, burning grease all over the cabin, just when they were beginning to really get the place in shape for winter. Waiting on the bearfat, he added a skin to the parka lining, pleased with the progress he’d been making on it here and there whenever he’d got the chance to sit down for a few minutes. Already he had finished the portion that would line the inside of the hood, and was nearly two thirds of the way done with the much larger section for Liz’s back. When it was finished, he could attach the lining to the parka section he’d already cut out of sheep hide--the hood-pouch for the baby, and the part that would cover Liz’s back and come around on each side beneath her arms--and be well on his way to finishing the garment. Just in time too. Morning frost had become a regular occurrence over those past few days, each night’s chill seeming just a bit sharper than that of the one before. He shivered, moved a bit closer to the stove and rubbed his hands to restore the flexibility he’d lost while sitting there immobile, contemplating. Could use a parka, himself, if he wanted to be out doing much trapping during the winter without returning half frozen each time as he had so often during his previous winters out there. Would be a good thing to avoid this time around, especially just after the baby came when Liz would be depending on him to do all of the outdoor chores for a while.

Checking the fat while he was near the stove, Einar found that it was ready to skim off into storage vessels which, he remembered suddenly, they hadn’t yet constructed. Liz had gathered the willows for making more pitch-coated baskets the previous morning before his trip up to the spring, but hadn’t yet woven any baskets as far as he knew, and neither had he done any coal-burning on the aspen log they’d brought into camp with the intention of turning it into a second fat-containing vessel. Well. Guess I could pour it all into one cooking pot to sit while I go put together a few baskets. Don’t especially want to do the coal burning during daylight hours, since it makes so much smoke. Doggone your lazy no good hide, Einar…you should have done that last night, instead of falling asleep directly after dinner, the way you did. It was all that good warm grouse broth, that’s what did it. Put you right to sleep. Don’t know what’s happening to you. Thought you weren’t gonna have any, not last night anyway, and then next thing you know you’ve finished it all up and are half asleep with Liz pushing you towards the bed. Can’t blame her, that’s just what she does, but you…well, you’ve got to do better than that, for sure. No good to let yourself get behind on the work right now, especially when it’s something like burning out that log that can’t be done during the day.

Lacking a quick solution to the storage problem, Einar carefully emptied the water out from beneath the fat in one of the pots, skimming the melted layer out of each of the other two and adding it on top, until the first pot was nearly full. Liquid gold. Might as well be, considering its value to them during the upcoming winter, and he carefully set the full pot aside to cool against the back wall of the cabin. Liz, meanwhile, was hard at work over the outdoor firepit they’d used for cooking during warmer summer days, searing their breakfast bear steaks on hot slabs of granite while keeping them constantly basted with fat to prevent their drying out. Though her initial breakfast plans had involved another stew, she had seen the single-minded intensity with which Einar was going about his work that morning--as if he believed he’d be in a bad way if for even a moment he allowed himself to slow down, perhaps unable to get back up to speed again for the rest of the day and she had no doubt he would, but wished he’d do it, anyway, wished he’d rest--and she hadn’t wanted to interfere by taking over the stove for her breakfast preparations. Besides, they almost always ate their meats stewed--one gets more nutrition out of the meat that way, as Einar had always told her, as none of the juices are lost as they are in roasting or other methods of preparation--and the change would be nice, for once. Beside the sizzling meat she heated a small portion of half-dried chokecherries, slowly re-hydrating them with drops of water and honey as they warmed. A sauce, of sorts, to be eaten with the meat, and she hoped Einar might find the breakfast appetizing. Which was a silly thing to hope, she told herself, as it had become quite clear to her over the months that there was very little he didn’t find incredibly appetizing, in the way of food. He simply chose not to eat it a lot of times--seemed the better he liked a thing, the more resistant he was to consuming it when he was like that; a mystery to her--which was another matter entirely, and not one she could do too much about. She shook her head, flipped over the nicely browning meat. Whether or not Einar wanted breakfast she certainly did, and so did the baby, and it was all starting to smell terribly good to her. Einar must have smelled the food just about that time too because there he was emerging form the cabin, coming over to crouch by the cooking fire, empty willow basket in his hands. She was about to ask him if he was ready for some food, but he spoke first.

“I messed up.”

“Oh?” Are you here to confess that you’ve been wrong all along about not getting enough to eat, and show that you’re changing your ways by devouring this breakfast? I hope so, but it doesn’t seem particularly likely…

“Needed to get that log burnt out last night so we’d have a place to store the rendered bearfat, but didn’t do it. Fell asleep and didn’t do it.”

“You needed to sleep. There’ll be time to finish the log later. I’ll help you.”

“Yeah, but now I have no place to put the fat I just rendered. You had this basket hanging up in the rafters, full of mullein leaves. I stuck the leaves on a rock slab for the moment, held them down with another slab, and was wondering…”

“Sure! Of course. I’ll make another basket for the leaves, and if you just coat that one with pitch, you’ll have one of those portable, cache-able fat containers we were talking about the other day!”

Einar grinned his thanks, was about to hurry away after their supply of pitch so he could coat the basket, but Liz grabbed him by the arm.

“Wait! Breakfast is ready, and I don’t want it to get all dried out, here...”

He pulled loose from her grasp. “Sure smells good, but I’m not really…”

“Eat anyway! What’s the point in working so hard to set aside meat and fat and berries for the winter if you’re not going to eat enough in the meantime to keep you alive until the snow falls? Don’t you see the inconsistency there?”

“I’m alive, and intend on staying that way for the foreseeable future if I have anything to do with it. But as far as what the point might be…well, the point of it all is to make sure you and little Hildegard will have plenty, that’s what.”

Einar, though wanting to go right on with his work, sat down on the log bench beside Liz and prepared to share the breakfast she had made the two of them.

***************************

Finished with breakfast--Liz’s thinly sliced bear steaks, well done on the outside and served with chokecherry sauce had, indeed, been good--Einar rummaged through the supplies in the cabin until he located a good quantity of pitch they'd saved, most of it melted, cleaned of bark particles and re-solidified into large chunks on curved sections of aspen bark, but some still in its unrefined state, lumps and nodules removed from the bark of spruces and pines whenever either of them had stumbled across the valuable resource.  Sorting through the pile Einar chose one of the smooth, shiny-topped refined chunks--it looked very much like dark-colored toffee, and he was half tempted to take a bite, but knew it was quite bitter--slightly bent its bark holder to snap it loose, and returned to the fire, and Liz.  Knowing what he was about she had already set a slab of granite to heat, leaning it beside the fire and Einar placed a second rock beneath it--another flat chunk of granite but with a slightly dished-out center--to catch the drips as the pitch began to liquefy.  Pitch coating the basket would require the use of most of the pitch lump Einar had set to melt, perhaps all of it, for he wanted to be very sure that every crack was thoroughly sealed.  Bear fat--like most other fats and oils--when warm, had an insidious way of finding its way though the slightest opening and saturating anything that might be in contact with its containment vessel, and he knew that this loss could be prevented by applying enough layers of pitch.     

Hurriedly swiping up the pitch as it melted and using a wad of shredded inner aspen bark as his paintbrush, Einar had soon managed to coat the entire inside of the tightly-woven willow basket with hardening, waterproof pitch, and this process he continued until all of the pitch had been used and the basket displayed a thick, shiny layer on all of its inner surfaces. With two fingers he worked quickly to smooth out any irregularities that remained, leaving the basket’s interior burnished smooth and silky. Protrusions left in the pitch would, he knew, tend to catch on things--a stick, spoon or other tool they were using to scoop out a bit of the fat, for instance--and chip loose part of the coating. Leaving the basket to cool and harden, Einar hurried into the cabin to check on the stove, adding a few sticks to the fire and plopping several fresh lumps of bearfat into the two water-filled pots that were ready for use.  Pitch having had time to harden he retrieved the newly-coated basket, transferring the already-rendered bearfat into it, half filling the pot with water and setting it with the others to heat. 

Alright, guess I'd better get busy now helping Liz make some more baskets, so we'll have someplace to put this fat as I get it rendered.  With the two of us working, we ought to be able to get a couple of pretty large ones turned out within the space of an hour.  Aim for making them deep rather than wide, and it'll go even quicker, seeing as the willows we've got to work with are pretty short ones.  Do that, coat the pair of them with pitch and then maybe wait to render any more fat until tonight after I've got that log burned out.  Shouldn't take but a couple hours of darkness for me to get it finished, as much wood as I've already carved out of it with the axe and adze.  It's a good start.  Hopefully between the two of us, we can manage to get most of the fat rendered tonight, the hides and a good bit of the meat smoked, too.  Should be ready to go out after elk in a couple of days, at most.  He hoped.  Would be a struggle for sure, the way his ribs were hurting him.  Had done his best to push the matter aside as he worked and had managed it pretty well, but now, alone and unmoving for a moment in the stillness of the cabin, he suddenly found himself struggling for breath, wishing he might be able to stop for a minute or two just for the relief it would bring him, tried holding his breath but it didn’t prove helpful--he’d known it wouldn’t, but tried anyway--as it left him gasping for air at the end of it and hurting worse than before. At that moment, the prospect of stalking and shooting an elk, let alone packing it home to the cabin, seemed almost more than he could face.

Good. That’s good, Einar, because having it be a challenge like that will pretty near guarantee that you get one, won’t it? Just to make sure you can. Now quit moping around the house here and go build the smoking tent. Which he did, taking the three small aspens he’s previously set aside against the woodshed and lashing them firmly together near their tops, but not so near as to be placing weight on any too-narrow sections that might break under the weight of the meat they intended to hang from the tripod. A good start, and, scratching away at the ground cover of spruce needles and aspen leaves with the deer-scapula shovel that often served such purposes and a number of others, he created the shallow pit in which the smoking fire would burn. Ground damp, he lined the pit with small granite slabs and chunks to prevent the fire’s putting itself out before it really got established. Liz, pausing in her weaving of a second willow basket for fat storage, retrieved for him the bundles of still-damp green willow and cherry wood she had earlier gathered, piling them beneath a shady tree a few feet distant from the firepit.

“Would you like me to start peeling these for you? Assuming we don’t want the meat tasting bitter like willow bark…”

“Yep, they’ll need to be peeled. The cherry too, because of the cyanide in the bark. Don’t know that we’d get enough to do any harm just in using it to smoke meat, but it doesn’t seem a good thing to experiment with. We’ll need to peel all of them, and chop them into short little sections so they’ll burn well, despite being so wet. Then this evening when we’re ready to start the smoking, we’ll get things going with a quick, hot fire of aspen and spruce before we start throwing those little pieces of green smoking wood on there. Want to keep things real cool and smoky in there during the process, and of course not use any spruce or fir except to get things started, unless we want black, pitchy meat…”

“No, that doesn’t sound so good, but I was thinking maybe I ought to leave the willow bark on, and then this winter when you’re eating that meat, you’d be getting a little aspirin with every bite! Since you’ll likely as not still be dealing with one injury or another then, and you won’t drink my willow solution anymore…”

“Oh, don’t you dare try anything like that! You’re sneaky.”

“Thanks. I’m learning from an expert, after all…”

Which got her a playful swat with a willow wand from Einar as he rose to go to the cabin after the hides, ready to build the smoking tent.

***************************


The day continued sunny and increasingly warm, Liz working as quickly as she was able to produce the tightly woven willow baskets that would store the transportable portion of their bearfat and Einar, as soon as he had finished draping and securing the hides for the night’s smoking tent, joining her just long enough to complete one basket of his own. Already Liz had produced two of them--her hands sure do work quicker than mine at the moment; good thing we’re not having a race, here--and he took them as she set them aside, melting pitch for each and coating them as he had earlier done with the basket borrowed from the cabin. Liz, who had become proficient enough at weaving with willow that she did not even need to keep her eyes continually on the project, looked up and watched him for a time as he worked feverishly to ensure an even distribution of pitch inside the latest basket, face beaded up with sweat and eyes glowing with a dangerous intensity that Liz had seen all too often. Fully absorbed in his work Einar did not notice her at first, did not seem to notice his own fast, labored breathing, either, which Liz had to admit was quite typical of him. He’d spent so many years training himself to keep on going no matter what that he appeared actually able at times to entirely set aside even the most--to her--obvious and debilitating physical difficulties to give his entire focus to a bit of work he had for one reason or another deemed critical. A good skill, but one whose practice she could not help but think was probably going to end up killing him, if he didn’t watch out. Liz had finished a third basket, her last, she was thinking, and Einar was about to begin pitch-coating it, but she had other things in mind.

“Einar.”

He jumped to his feet, nearly splattering himself with the hot pitch he was at that moment pouring from its rock receptacle onto another slightly dished out rock nearer the coals, but somehow managing to avoid the accident.

“What is it?”

“My goodness, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Guess I must have seriously underestimated just how much concentration it takes to tend melting pitch…”

Einar laughed, shook his head and sat back down beside her with a big hollow sigh, still trembling a little from the sudden startlement, or from weariness, or perhaps both. “Right now it takes just about all the concentration I’ve got just to keep on taking the next breath, it feels like, and then on top of that I’ve got the pitch to tend. So yeah, I was a little distracted. What did I miss?”

“Nothing. I was just going to ask how you want to arrange things tonight, with the smoking. One of us has to be responsible for watching the fire and adding wood…I don’t know? Every hour or two?”

“Yep, probably just about that often, as small and narrow as these bits of willow and cherry are. It’s no problem though. I’m gonna be up a good part of the night anyway burning out that fat-holding log, so it won’t be any trouble for me to keep an eye on it. You need your sleep, so little Hildegard can keep on growing the way she needs to and getting all ready to come out.”

“Not anytime soon, I hope! As far as coming out.”

“No.”

“She really needs to wait at least another two months, if she can”

“Well, that’s probably just one more reason for you to be sure and get plenty of sleep. Seems things are going real well for both of you, and we don’t want that to change now. So. I’m the guy who tends the smoker.”

“Then you’re the guy who’d better be heading inside soon to take a nap for an hour or two, if he doesn’t want to hear from my rabbit stick!”

“Nap? You mean sleep while it’s light outside?”

“That is the generally accepted definition of…”

“Nope, that wouldn’t be me, then. You’ve got the wrong guy, I’m telling you, and…”

“Oh, come on. There have been times when we both lived like nocturnal creatures for a while, for one reason or another, so I know you can sleep during daylight hours, if you’ve got to. That’s all I’m asking. Just go nocturnal for the rest of the day, and sleep so you’ll have the energy to do what you’re planning to do tonight with the smoker and the log and all.”

“I am nocturnal. It’s just that I’m the sort of nocturnal critter that has baskets to coat and meat to slice and generally a lot to do before it gets dark and I start…nocturning.”

“Nocturning, is it? I’m about to start nocturning you in the head with my war club, mister!”

Einar was laughing, and he didn’t want to laugh because he was already having enough trouble breathing--ribs seemed worse that day, the pain at times very nearly more than he could work his way through, and in addition his lungs remained tight, congested, making him feel a need to cough but he hardly dared do it--and felt as though he might pass out if things got any worse, which he definitely did not want to do in front of Liz. Didn’t have a choice though, one doesn’t always get a choice, and the next thing he knew Liz was rolling him away from the fire, hurrying to scrape half-solidified but still rather hot pitch from his hands and arm before it could burn him too badly. He tried to help her, tried to sit up and get some idea of what could have happened but lost consciousness again at the speed of his own movement, ending up flat on his back beside the firepit, eyes rolled back in his head and face showing a familiar purple tinge as his body fought to catch up on oxygen intake. Liz shook her head, dabbed a bit more at the pitch residue on his hands. It hadn’t been that hot. He would be alright. Guess you’re getting a nap now, you goofy nocturnal guy, whether you like it or not. Come on, we’d better get you inside so my busying around won’t be as likely to wake you. Evening will be coming in a few hours, and you’ve got an awful lot of work planned…


· · · ·

Liz worked for a good hour out in the clearing, cleaning up the mess of melted pitch that had ended up splattered all over the place when Einar fell onto the rock containing it, finishing the coating of the basket and moving on to slice more meat for jerky and prepare the pieces they intended to smoke, later. Einar had brought the half dry chokecherries back out onto their granite slabs that morning to continue drying, and she checked them, turning numerous conglomerated cakes and sheets of the deep purple pulp to expose their reverse sides to the sun. They would, if the sun stayed out, be dry by evening, ready to package up for use as a most welcome addition to winter soups, stews and puddings. Good progress they were making, stores increasing as the weather cooled, but still she was seized sometimes by a creeping, pressing anxiety when she thought about how soon the snow could set in, cover the short tundra-grass of the basin and drift deep between fallen trees in the dark timber to slow their travel, drive the deer and elk down to lower elevations and cut them off from many of the resources they depended upon to keep themselves alive--and how soon after that the baby would be coming.

Working away diligently at the bear meat as Einar lay unconscious in the cabin, inexplicably unwilling to do the things that were necessary to facilitate his continued survival, let alone his recovery from the serious injuries currently affecting him, Liz suddenly found herself blinking back tears. It was too much, the baby coming, winter breathing down her neck and the man she loved suffering terribly if quite bravely nearly every moment of his existence, by all appearances not far from death but entirely disinclined to acknowledge the fact, let alone do anything about it. And they needed elk, besides. More than one elk, if they were to have enough hides to cover themselves against the weather while out on the traplines they would need to supplement their diet during the winter, and Einar was so determined to get them those elk that he didn’t seem to realize he was going to kill himself in his hurry to get done with camp chores so they could go out and do the hunting. How could such a wise and knowledgeable person be so very blind when it came to certain things? She didn’t understand it, and did not know how to remedy the situation. Any of it.

Kneeling there beside the cooling firepit she wept, head in her hands and the good soothing song of the aspens whispering above her until she’d done with her sorrow and was quiet, listening, and the words came to her, Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good; Blessed is the man who trusts in Him! Oh, fear the LORD, you His saints!  There is no want to those who fear Him. The young lions lack and suffer hunger; But those who seek the LORD shall not lack any good thing…The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears, And delivers them out of all their troubles. The LORD is near to those who have a broken heart,  And saves such as have a contrite spirit…and she thanked Him, dried her eyes, rose and went inside to prepare a poultice for Einar’s ribs. It was a small thing, but ought to help. And perhaps his current condition might just keep him still long enough to allow her to apply it…

Einar had not stirred, though it had not been for lack of trying. In his dreams he was aware of the press of time, the demands of the day and for a time he fought the darkness that held him so heavily pressed into the ground, struggling to cast it off, to get his eyes open so he could rise, but without success. The struggle had left him lying in an odd position from which breathing was even more difficult but too far gone to realize it or attempt to remedy the situation, so he lay drifting in and out of consciousness, soon held firmly in the grasp of a most unpleasant dream in which there was no doubt as to the reason for his breathing difficulties, arms and legs bent and bound behind him in a most excruciating but familiar position as his air supply was increasingly cut off, the struggle harder to maintain with each breath, the way his broken and bruised ribs seemed to be grinding and cutting into him each time he attempted to take in air, and then there was the cough. He’d tried to resist it at first, but feeling as though he was drowning, had finally allowed it to come, though it jarred the ribs and sent white hot pain through his entire left side every time. It was alright. He’d been there before, knew what it took to get through, knew you had to take it one breath at a time, don’t even try to look beyond that, or you’ll be lost…and he managed it, got himself just enough oxygen with each tiny, strained breath to keep going but he was tired, so dreadfully weary and he supposed, viewing the entire thing for the moment objectively, as if from a great distance, that it ought to alarm him somewhat, as it would have been so very, terribly easy to simply let go, such a relief…but he did not let go, and with the next breath the objectivity was gone, the merciful distance, and once again he was alone with the crushingly present reality of his own struggle.

Liz found him there face down on the floor in a terribly contorted position that could not possibly have been comfortable and very gently she rolled him over, avoiding his wildly thrashing arms as she sought to ease the strain on his ribs, allow him to breathe more easily, and it must have worked, for he stopped struggling, took a few big, relieved breaths and lay still, sleeping as Liz went about preparing the hound’s tongue poultice that she hoped might bring some relief and healing to his battered ribs. One of the pots that he had been earlier using to render bearfat still contained some warm water, and to it she added two large hands full of dried hound’s tongue leaves, crumbling them somewhat, stirring and leaving them to begin absorbing some of the water. Into the mixture she poured the strong willow tea she had made for Einar the day after he’d injured his ribs, knowing that while he had for reasons not quite clear to her decided to refuse taking it internally for this particular injury, he was less likely to object to its use in a poultice. If he even woke while the poultice was in use… Watching him as he lay fighting for breath, she was beginning to have her doubts.

While the leaves soaked Liz searched for something to use in binding the poultice in place, finding the cloth strips with which Einar had been at times wrapping his ribs but she had a better idea, knelt beside the rough little box where she had been over the summer setting things aside for the baby--wads of soft, clean usnea lichen for diapering, several luxurious marten hides, the mostly finished woven rabbitskin blanket--and took from it the folded hide of the bighorn lamb that she had so carefully scraped and brained and stretched earlier in the summer. The hide had the perfect, springy-stretchy texture of well-made buckskin, and seemed to her just the thing to bind the poultice in place. It was wider and more stretchy than the cloth strips, and would almost certainly be more comfortable. Never mind that she had been saving it for the baby; it would still be perfectly good for that purpose after serving as a rib wrap. Hound’s tongue leaves thoroughly softened and saturated in the warm willow water she took them in her hands, squeezing out a bit of the water and pressing them into place against the deer hide. Since there was no open wound, the leaves could safely be pressed directly against his skin with no need for a backing, and she hurried to get the poultice in place while it was still warm, hoping very much that if Einar woke while she was doing it, he might realize that her actions were friendly. Which, trapped somewhere in the dim grey uncertainty between dream and wakefulness, he fortunately did.

Someone had freed him, unbound legs and arms and worked them into more natural positions, gently rolled him over and seemed to be tending to his wounds, pressing something cool and damp and tremendously soothing to his side where the ribs were broken. None of it made make sense but he was reasonably certain of what was happening, the pain far less than before, and he smiled--enemy or not, such ministrations were acts of mercy, and he was grateful, would worry about their intentions and ulterior motives later--and drifted off into a deeper if still rather oxygen-deprived sleep, rest while you can, you know this won’t last… Liz stayed with him as he slept, stretched out beside him with her back against the wall of the cabin, re-positioning him whenever his thrashing left him slumped over in a way that hurt his ribs or impeded his breathing and praying for him through the afternoon as she worked on yet another basket.

Einar woke in the evening, just in time to peer out the open cabin door and watch the raven return from his day-long aerial wanderings, coming to rest in his favorite spot in the dead fir and giving Liz, who was busy gathering up dried chokecherries from their respective rocks, a tilt of the head and a few rasping notes by way of greeting. Seeing the entire scene through the door, Einar watched Liz with a hint of confusion in his eyes, wondering what had happened to the day, remembered their last conversation and reached up to feel his head, half expecting to discover there a lump the size of the end of her rabbit stick, but finding nothing…

· · · ·

By the time Einar got himself together and joined Liz out in the clearing--movement seemed to cause coughing, and the coughing left him doubled over in pain, pressing his ribs and wondering how Liz had managed to get that poultice on him without his noticing--she had finished gathering up the dried berries in one of the hides he intended to smoke and was heading to the cabin with them. At the sight of Einar, the raven swooped down and made a circuit around his head, settling boldly on a shoulder and picking a bit of solidified pitch from his hair when he stopped still to watch it, but taking off again as Liz approached.

“Looks like you’ve got a new friend there. Did you get some good sleep?”

Einar rubbed his eyes, glanced up at the raven as it returned to its post in the dead fir. “Wasn’t trying to get…what’d you do, anyway? Knock me in the head with your war club? Got to say I don’t remember how I got into the cabin, and I don’t much like that…”

“I dragged you. But no, there was no war club involved. I think you got a little short on oxygen, and you ended up face down in the melted pitch for a second, then didn’t seem very much inclined to wake up. So I let you sleep.”

Einar grunted, indicated the soft hide wrap around his middle. “You do this?” Asking the obvious…who else would have done it? Better not be anyone else around here who would do such a thing, and I sure don’t think I could do it in my sleep…

“It’s hound’s tongue. You mentioned wanting to wrap you ribs with hound’s tongue a few days ago, so I hope you won’t mind my having done it for you while you were out.”

“I don’t…in my dream, I thought you were…thanks. Thank you. Did a real good thing for me, there.”

“What did you dream? I could tell you were dreaming, but it seemed you couldn’t wake up even though you seemed to be trying pretty hard, and then after the poultice you seemed to quiet down a little…”

Shook his head, blinking away the images that wanted to come crowding back at the mention of the thing; glad I plan to be up all night watching this fire; wouldn’t be a good one for sleeping, not much good at all. “Ah…never mind about all that. Gonna be dark before too long here, and we’ve got a smoking fire to get ready.”

“I hung some pieces of meat, just chose some of the larger ones we had left, but you’d better see if they’re what you had in mind.” Which they were, Einar pleased to see that she had not only chosen the pieces well but hung them securely, building a small pyramid of dry aspen sticks in the small pit beneath the tent, pile of green willow and cherry pieces placed within easy reach of the spot where he had left the tent coverings loose along the bottom for feeding the fire. Everything was ready to go, and Einar told her so, thanked her for tending to everything even as inwardly he growled at himself for sleeping through all of it. Just as well though, probably. If you’re capable of falling asleep or passing out or whatever you did right in the middle of pitch coating a basket, chances are you really needed the sleep and wouldn’t have been too likely to make it through the night without it, anyway. No good letting the fire go out halfway through the meat smoking, or falling asleep over a log full of hot coals while you’re trying to burn it out…that might have come out worse than the melted pitch! Might as well be grateful for the little nap, even if it wasn’t what you were aiming for. And he was, in his own way, grateful, though at the moment feeling terribly disoriented as well, lost and with the distinct and rather unsettling feeling that he might have missed something while he was out, slept through some important event, a faint and elusive shadow of memory telling him he’d better be finding out, and he stared at Liz until she looked away uncomfortably, wanting to ask her but deciding against it as he supposed she’d have to take any such inquiry as a sign of mistrust on his part, as his doubting that she would have informed him of any such occurrence. Which he didn’t, really--doubt, that is--but still he did not seem quite able to shake the feeling as he busied himself with his preparations for the night, hauling the future fat storage log outside with Liz’s help so he could work on burning it out without filling the cabin with smoke, and without leaving his post near the smoking fire, and by the time they got through, he found himself jumping at every whisper of the wind in the spruces and quite unable to concentrate on his work. Nothing for it. He had to ask.

“While I was asleep. Was there any…air activity? Anything unusual? Keep getting the feeling I might have missed something like that…”

“You didn’t miss much. Just me making a couple of baskets and wrapping your ribs, and afternoon turning to evening. There was one plane that came over an hour or so ago, but he didn’t circle or linger or anything like that, and the fires were both out by then, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“Must have been what I heard. Thanks. Couldn’t figure it out. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Bud Kilgore flying around up there one of these days, even though I told him real plainly not to do it. He never was one to heed instructions like that particularly well, a real independent sort of a critter, and the way he left things that last time…well, sounded like he didn’t think he’d made his last trip up here. I just hope he doesn’t bring the feds following along after him if he does try anything like that, because…aw, I’m probably worrying about nothing. Expect he’s long gone back to Arizona, by now.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. It looked to me like he was probably going to be spending more and more time out this way, even if he was for some reason relieved of his official duties as wild goose chaser for the Task Force down there…”

“Well he’d better not be! I made it real clear that if I caught him following me around again I’d have to…”

“Not you, you big goof! Susan. I think he’s going to be out here calling on Susan--did you see them together, this last time?--and if so, I wouldn’t be too surprised if we saw some sign of him again. Maybe both of them. But don’t worry, I’d tell you if I saw that little green and white plane anywhere near here. The one while you were sleeping was white. Plain white.”

“Well, that’s a good thing I guess. Real good thing. Doggone mysterious human critters. Don’t figure I’ll even understand ‘em, not even real sensible ones like Kilgore. Now. Before it finishes getting dark I’m gonna get this fire started. You want to let it burn pretty hot at first to get the coals that’ll start the wet wood burning, only it’s a little tricky with aspen, since it doesn’t really produce many coals to speak of. Got to get the timing just right so your wet wood doesn’t just smother what’s left of the aspen and put the whole thing out. Would work better if we could use a little pine to get things started, and we can throw a couple little pieces of it on there to add some liveliness here at first, but don’t want to go overboard with it, unless we’re interested in eating pitch-coated meat…”

[FOTH]

Though Einar had been very clear about wanting to manage the smoking himself so Liz could get some sleep, she found it difficult to do so with the knowledge that he was sitting out there in the cold, kept going out to check on him and take him things, a bit of chokecherry pudding sweetened with honey, some of the supper stew that had been left over from his portion, and once, her sweater in the hopes that he would wear it if he wasn’t warm. Which he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t, and she was not the least bit surprised about any of it. At least he had the smoking fire to keep him somewhat warm if he chose to use it, and the small one he had going in their outdoor firepit to produce the coals he was using to burn out the log, the fires to warm him, and his work. The way he was going at it she certainly expected the work ought to be keeping him at least somewhat warm; already the log was showing significant progress, Einar having kept it continually supplied with fresh coals, blowing on them and then scraping to remove the charred wood before adding fresh embers. She crouched beside him, waiting until he looked up, face appearing strange and haggard in the glow of the coals, but he gave her a big grin, clearing the soot and sweat from his face with the swipe of a sleeve and sitting back on his heels. Would have said something, but he was, despite his delight at having got so much done, too winded to speak. Liz just shook her head and offered him some water, which he took.

“Looks like you’ve got this thing well over half way done! How about if I take over for a few minutes, let you go lie down for a little while?”

Einar shook his head. “Slept all…afternoon, so now it’s my turn to…”

“It takes a lot of breath to keep blowing on those coals though, doesn’t it?”

A nod of acknowledgement as he scraped the now-dead remains of the last batch of coals from the growing depression in the log, gently chipping and scraping at the charred wood with the adze, and, in places, with his knife until he reached bare, white wood. A coughing fit got hold of him then and Liz, seeing how much it hurt him, got herself positioned behind his back and held him, pressing his ribs in an attempt to ease the hurt as he cleared his lungs, long overdue and very much needed if tremendously uncomfortable. Sinking to the ground when he was through Einar rested his forehead on its cool dampness, Liz still holding his ribs and draping her sweater over him, as he appeared not too far from sleep. Had no intention of sleeping, though, and was back at his post as soon as he’d managed to get enough air to allow himself upright again, choosing new coals and placing them in the log. Liz wanted to get after him, try again to talk him into switching places for the night but she knew there would be little point. The closer he was to being dead, the more steadfastly stubborn he seemed to become. Somewhat senseless, Liz was still inclined to say, but she was coming to understand it a bit at the same time. And figuring out how to work with it, too--and with him.

“That cough sounds worse. How about if I make you a pot of tea with some of the chokecherry bark we took off of the smoking wood? Cherry bark can really help settle a cough…”

“Yeah, it can, but I…need this cough. Been too long since I really cleared my lungs, with the shallow little breaths these ribs have made me inclined to take, and that’s half my problem right now. Sludgy lungs. Need to cough it out.”

Which he seemed well on his way to doing, doubled over with another coughing fit that left him curled up on the ground beside the firepit by the time it was over, sobbing for breath and near passing out from the pain in his side and chest. Had felt as though each cough was tearing something in there, grinding sharp edges of fractured bone into flesh and organs and ripping him up inside, and he could not help but think that must not be too far from the reality of it. Was fortunate he hadn’t punctured a lung. Yet. Wished Liz would go away, stop staring at him and leave him in peace to face whatever fate awaited him that night but she wouldn’t go, stayed there unspeaking beside him, pressing his ribs in exactly the way that most minimized the pain and offering him water whenever he seemed to have enough oxygen to allow him that long a pause in his ongoing fight for air, and after a time he came to realize that he truly didn’t want her gone at all, just wished he might be able to better control himself in her presence. Which was a matter of pride, and he knew it, tried his hardest to set it aside. Why shouldn’t she see you like this? It’s how you are, at the moment. Now you get back to work. Enough of this coughing and drooping and curling up on the ground. More than enough.

That fact notwithstanding, he found it all but impossible to carry on with the coal-burning of the bearfat vessel, as each attempt to blow on the coals quickly dissolved into yet another coughing fit, and when Liz squeezed his shoulder and gently pushed him aside, he did not resist. They took turns, then, working on the log, Einar placing the coals and then Liz gently but steadily fanning them to a living, glowing orange with a carefully directed stream of breath, working until the last living ember had gone black, after which Einar would scrape them out, carve away the blackened wood and the whole process would be begun again. Working together they finished the project within the space of three hours, Einar doing the final smoothing of the inside of the vessel with a rough chunk of sandstone. During this time they had paused on several occasions to check the status of the smoking fire--smoky, cool and still going; it seemed to be working well--Einar once adding a small pile of peeled willow sticks to help keep it going.

Seeing that Einar had no intention of either leaving the smoking meat to join her in the cabin for the rest of the night or allowing her to relieve him at the task of guarding it and feeding the fire, she retrieved the heavy, warm bear hide from their bed inside, scraping together a good pile of spruce needles and creating a makeshift bed right there beside the smoker, on which she hoped Einar might see fit to lie down for occasional rests throughout the night. Which of course he did not, being quite certain that if he ever allowed himself such a luxury, he might not be moving again for a very long time, but Liz put the bed to good use, dozing there for stretches of time between making batches of bear broth and doing her best to keep Einar drinking it regularly.

The first hint of grey was just beginning to show along the high, spruce-studded contour of the horizon when the two of them made one final check on the smoker, added a few sticks and crawled onto the bear hide, curling up together there beside the smoke tent, and sleeping.

****************************

Camp quiet during the early morning hours after Einar and Liz sank into their exhausted sleep beside the smoking tent, a coyote slunk through the timber beside the cabin, ribs showing, fur patchy and not as thick as it ought to have been considering time of year, made bold by hunger and the coming of winter and encouraged in its boldness by the hush that had fallen over the clearing, human scent still strong but no one stirring. Tempted by the smell of all that fresh, partially smoked bear meat the wary creature--head cocked strangely to one side, for he had that summer lost the sight in one eye due to an unfortunate run-in with a downed spruce--edged towards the tent of skins, beneath which the fire had all but died, emitting only the occasional faint wisp of sweet, willow-scented smoke. Not enough to deter a hungry coyote from poking his nose in under the tent and doing his best to make off with some of that meat. Fortunately for Einar and Liz, the hapless coyote was even then under surveillance, and the next moment the raven dived at him, leaving his fir-perch at great speed and making quite an intimidating spectacle as he closed with the coyote, a sight lost on the sleeping pair beneath the bear hide, but certainly not on the wiry little canine.

Einar was wide awake in an instant at the harsh, excited scolding of the raven, wanting to jump to his feet but holding himself rigidly still for a fraction of a second until he could get some sense of the situation--not a good one; they’d gone to sleep right out there in the open near the edge of the clearing, and would be clearly visible to anyone who might be watching the area, had no quick cover to dart behind, and nearby only the flimsy concealment of the smoking tent--and holding Liz still, too, and then he was moving, knife in one hand and Liz’s arm in the other as he hurried her into the timber, got her behind him and looked back just in time to see the coyote fleeing up into the rocks behind the cabin, raven still hot on its tail, scolding and diving and making a general nuisance of himself. Einar’s action-readiness dissolved then into a relieved conglomeration of laughter and coughing, Liz holding him, leading him back to the bear hide as he struggled for breath. Inside its tent the smoking meat remained intact; the coyote had not been given the opportunity to enter. Einar put away his knife, worked to slow his breathing so he could get out a few words.

“Quite a start to the…morning, that was! Glad it was…coyote, and not bear!”

“Yes, me too. I didn’t really intend for both of us to go to sleep, but guess we must have been pretty tired, after that night…”

“Yeah, tired enough to sleep right through pretty nearly having the place raided by a mangy old one-eyed coyote, it looks like. One more good reason to sleep cold if you’re gonna sleep at all, nights like this when you’ve got to keep both ears and one eye open. Should have just curled up directly on the ground if I had to go and sleep, and I’d have been a lot more inclined to wake real easily and…”

“You almost certainly would have been waking up dead this morning if you’d have insisted on sleeping that cold. Look at you. You can’t stop shaking as is, and you’ve only been out from under the bear hide for a few minutes.”

“Nah, it would have been fine. You wouldn’t have let me wake up dead. You’d have kicked me over to the fire and poured some more of that bear broth down me before I could do that.”

“Doggone right I would have! And locked you in the cabin for the rest of the day, too, all tied up in the hide so you couldn’t freeze yourself, and maybe left you that way for the following night, too. And I may still do it. But if you were alone, I mean. You’d not have made it through the night sleeping out on the ground like that, not as frosty as everything is this morning…”

“Well in that case, it wouldn’t have mattered too much about my losing the bear meat to the coyote in the first place, now would it have?”

“You’re impossible! Maybe I’d just better go ahead and lock you in there today, for good measure…”

“You’d better not.”

“I wouldn’t dare!”

Having tired, apparently, of harassing the fleeing coyote, the raven returned, landing on the arm that Einar held outstretched for it. “Good job there, critter,” he addressed the bird, rising and reaching inside the smoking tent, cutting a good sized strip of meat from one of the hanging sections. “Guess it’s a good thing one of us was awake, isn’t it? Here. Have a bite of this bear meat you saved for us. Pretty good, huh? Well, you earned it. Looks like I will have to call you Muninn, if you insist on staying.”

Moving slowly so as not to frighten the bird, Liz offered it a second piece of bear. “Why Muninn? That’s a strange name. What does it mean?”

“Muninn,” Einar replied, standing again and launching the large bird up into the air with a flick of his arm, “is one of the two ravens in Norse mythology who spent the days flying out over the earth gathering news to bring back to Odin in the evening, among other things. The name translates roughly to mean ‘memory,’ and he was a messenger, too. This guy is just a confused bird that seems to have taken a liking to our camp for some reason, but I figure if he’s gonna stick around, we need to call him something…”

“Yes, I guess we do, assuming you’re not going to decide to turn him into supper, one of these nights. I’d just as soon he not have a name, if that’s going to happen.”

“Nope, Muninn’s not gonna be supper. He just earned the right not to be supper--for a good long while at least--by keeping that coyote from making off with a ten pound chunk of smoked bear. That would have been a big loss, especially after all the work we’ve gone to smoking the stuff. Guess we’d better test it, by the way. See whether or not it’s had enough time in the smoke yet.”

“We can’t eat it raw though, can we, not even smoked?”

“Not bear. Too much risk of trichinosis. Bear is one that just has to be cooked. Want to fry us some up on a rock? Don’t seem to be any planes around this morning, and I need to get busy rendering fat to fill that log we finished last night, so I’ll get the fire going again…”

Liz of course very much wanted to fry them up some of the smoked meat, being quite hungry herself and anxious to see how the smoke might have altered its flavor, and finding Einar’s apparent enthusiasm for the meal rather encouraging. Perhaps he would manage to eat a good bit of it, himself, to help fuel what was bound to be a very busy day as they took care of the rest of the fat and meat, and prepared to go after the elk they had both agreed they needed before the snow set in for good.

***************************

Slicing a good large portion of smoked meat for their breakfast--had to be sure to have more than a few bites each to test, she figured, or the test could hardly be considered valid--Liz set it to sizzle and cook on two hot, flat granite slabs she had been heating by the fire, a most wonderful odor of smoked meat soon filling the air around the cabin and pulling Einar away from his fat rendering work to investigate.  Having boiled nearly all of their meat for the past several years in order to take best advantage of its nutrients and avoid losing any of the juice, as tended to happen with roasting over a fire, the smoked and rock-fried slabs of bear proved to be a very welcome change, the combination of willow and cherry smoke giving the meat a sweet, tangy flavor unlike anything either of them had tasted in recent memory.  Einar, though greatly enjoying the treat as he savored tiny bites of it and tried his hardest to avoid giving in to his suddenly ravenous hunger and gobbling the entire piece in two bites, could tell that another night of smoking was in order. The smoke had not yet reached quite as deeply into the meat as he knew would be ideal for preserving it into the winter. 

Soon such things would not be of any concern to them, as the nights would be freezing and days not far behind, flies gone for the winter and any meat they hung outside would be effectively refrigerated, and then, not too long after, frozen solid all day long.  Then, ground buried beneath feet of snow and temperatures not infrequently falling well far below zero when the sun disappeared for the evening, they would find themselves struggling to carve frozen meat from their winter's supply with freshly sharpened knives, the stuff having taken on a texture somewhere between hard plastic and solid stone, hurrying it into the welcome warmth of the cabin to thaw in boiling water on the stove.  A fine way to spend the winter, if one has enough fuel for the fire and an ample supply of food to keep one warm internally, as well.  They were not doing too badly as far as that food supply was concerned, having set aside a good quantity of dried spring beauty and avalanche lily roots, serviceberries, chokecherries, and the dried meat of deer, sheep, bear and rabbit, but could certainly use more.  And would soon have it, if their upcoming elk hunt was blessed with success, but that hunt could not be embarked upon until the fat had been taken care of, meat smoked and securely stowed away.  Time to get back to work.  

With the day continuing, fortunately, aircraft-free, Einar made quick progress on the fat rendering, several slowly cooling batches soon covering the bottom surface of the newly prepared log and another heating on the stove.  He was pleased with the container, its interior walls having turned out quite smooth and almost reflective now that they were coated with a layer of melted bear fat; not particularly portable, but certainly a good addition, once full, to the food stores in the cabin.  Between them they had put together and pitch coated four baskets, too, which would be filled with fat for caching and for carrying if they had had to make a hasty departure from the cabin. Hope not.  Not after all this work, all this preparation.  But he knew their freedom was only as secure as their willingness to drop everything and move on at a moment's notice, knew complacency to be a far more dangerous enemy than either their human pursuers or the seasonal pressures of hunger and cold and scarcity that would forever be a part of their lives out there, if a manageable one, and he knew also that complacency tended to flourish on the very bounty and ease they were working so hard to secure for themselves.  They'd have to work equally diligently to prevent themselves falling into its grasp and thus making the one error that might prove to be their last. 

Not that you’re in too much danger of becoming complacent at the moment, Einar, not when you're having to work so hard just to breathe.  Exhausted and clumsy, maybe, but not complacent.  This breathing trouble’s got you antsy as a penned-up coyote all the time and jumping at every little sound just because you know you can't run real fast if you need to, or something like that.  Be glad when it starts getting better, quits hurting so doggone bad all the time that it’s hard to think about much else, but for the moment, at least it’s definitely keeping you from getting complacent.  Keeping you from getting things done as quickly as you ought to be able, also, and that's really got to end.  Ought to be able to pick up the pace, here, at least with this stuff that involves practically no movement, except with your hands.  Was hard work carving out the log and then last night with the coal burning...well, guess it's a good thing Liz stepped in when she did and shoved you aside, or you’d have been passing out in the coals pretty quickly.  Just not getting enough air in the first place to spare so much of it on a job like that.  But, the job is done.  And the ribs will heal.  Eventually. 

The most recent batch of bear fat finished melting and rendering it down he ladled it off the top of the hot water, pouring spoon after spoon of it into the storage log and pausing once to nibble on one of the bits of membrane--would have been a crackling, had they not been using the water method of rendering--that remained behind.  Chewy, and quite good.  Supposed he was awfully hungry, come to think of it, despite the good breakfast, but the smoked meat had not set particularly well with him, had left his stomach tied in knots and he knew that while the trouble was largely due to the ongoing hurt his ribs brought him every time he took a breath, the fact that he had subsisted on so little for such a long time was not helping, either.  His body just didn't know what to do with reasonably sized meals, anymore.  Well.  It would learn, again.  If he ever allowed it to do so. Wasn’t so sure that he could. Or would. Complicated matter, and not one he particularly wanted to think about in any great depth at the moment, but it was reality for him just then. Better not let Liz hear you thinking things like that, or she'll knock you in the head with her war club and tie you up inside until you change your ways.  She was joking about that I’m pretty sure when she threatened to do it earlier, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn't like to do something of the sort.  So.  Try another of the cracklings, how about?  Can’t hurt... Which he did, glancing up with a start the next moment at the realization that he’d heard something behind him, that something turning out to be Liz standing in the door with a pot of bear broth--made from bits of smoked meat; he could tell from the smell--as if she’d heard his thoughts from all the way outside, and come in to do something about it. Only she didn’t have that war club in her hand, so he relaxed the reflexive grip he’d got on his knife at the startlement of her sudden presence.

“Look at all that fat you’ve got done! How many more batches do you think it will take?”

“Five or six it’s looking like, though if I could borrow that third pot of yours, it’d go a bit more quickly…”

“You’re welcome to borrow it, but first you’ll have to help me finish up this broth so it’s empty. Here. I’ve had mine already, this is all yours.” And she pressed the pot into his hands, standing unnecessarily close--as far as he was concerned--as he finished it. Feeling a bit trapped all of a sudden Einar took a quick step back and dipped an inch or so of water into the pot, filling its remaining space with chunks of marbled white bearfat for melting and rendering. Five or six more batches--two hours’ worth of work, at his current rate--and he’d be done, baskets and hollow log filled with clean, rendered fat for the winter and nothing standing between them and their elk hunt other than one more night of smoking for the meat. And, of course, the time it would take them to hang the smoked meat and secure the cabin against raids by hungry bears and other fall-frenzied creatures looking for a free meal. It was appearing that they ought to be ready to set out no later than sometime the following morning, if nothing else managed to get in their way.

*************************

Fat rendering completed and the hollowed log standing nearly full of the incredibly valuable substance, four finished baskets full cooling in the corner and awaiting the pitch-sealed lids that would make them secure for carrying, hiding and hanging from trees for later retrieval and use, Einar sat back against the wall surveying his work with satisfaction. Adding the newly rendered fat to that from the first bear of the fall, he estimated that they had somewhere over eighty pounds of the stuff secured for the winter, a better start by far than they’d had in previous winters, and a good thing too, with the baby coming. Sorting through a pile of untreated skins, rabbit, mostly, with a few marmot thrown in, he chose two which, together, appeared large enough to cover the hollow log full of fat, soaking them with water from the water barrel and rubbing them together to speed its absorption. As soon as the skins began growing damp and supple, he stretched them tightly over the fat, securing them in place with a wrap of nettle cordage that he took all the way around the outer edge of the log, near the top, As the raw hides dried they would shrink, hopefully forming a secure and somewhat airtight seal over the stored fat. Being the fresher of the two batches, it would be the fat they set aside for use later in the winter, after that from the first bear had been used up. Liz came in then, kneeling beside him and inspecting the finished container.

“Looks like you’ve got this all finished up and ready to stash aside! Wow, I didn’t think you’d be done yet.”

“Probably wouldn’t, if you hadn’t helped hollow this thing out last night. I’d have got it done, eventually, but…” Shook his head and spread his hands, wanting to let her know how he appreciated her help, her knowing when and how to help, stepping in when he could neither quit coughing nor abandon the project that was causing him the trouble, and finishing the coal-burning, but couldn’t find the words. She heard, anyway, understood and gave him a big smile.

“You’re welcome. I like working with you, and we got it done. Now since you’re done how about coming outside for a little lunch, because I’ve got some smoked bear stew waiting? Then Snorri and I are going to lie down for a little while and see about getting a short rest, and we’d really like to have you join us…”

Knowing he faced a second sleepless night of tending the smoking meat, followed by what he hoped would be a long and successful day of hiking in search of elk--ending with a kill, and the subsequent work of tracking, butchering and carrying the animal back to camp--Einar had no doubt that Liz was on the side of wisdom when she urged him to lie down with her for a short midday rest, something in him still stubbornly resisting the idea but common sense winning out, in the end.  With one stipulation.  He refused to join her in the sunny gap between clusters of aspens, a fine place and a pleasant one to spend a restful hour or two, no doubt, and quite close enough to the smoking tent to hear the approach of any potential scavenger, but he feared beneath the soft, warming rays of the golden aspen-filtered sun he would inevitably fall into a sleep deeper than he wished, and might well, should Liz not wake him, remain thus for far longer than he had intended.  Not being one to find such dependence on another particularly acceptable when there were other available choices, he opted to sleep in the deep shade of a snarl of close-growing firs, knowing the chill would prevent his sleep from being either too deep or too long.  Liz, of course, thought this a somewhat unnecessary and perhaps even foolish precaution to be taking; though he'd never told her why he chose to avoid the sun, she knew, but refrained from commenting, lest he give up the idea of the nap altogether. Which he might very well have.

Asleep almost instantly despite the ongoing hurt of drawing breath, Einar lay sprawled out in the fir-shade with his spear across his chest and knife within easy reach. Liz, resting only a few feet from him and herself slipping towards sleep as she watched him breathe, found herself reluctant to let go and sleep, also, lest he grow too cold there in the shadows. Which was silly, she told herself knowing she needed the rest nearly as much as he did and finally tiring of keeping watch over someone who very adamantly didn't want to be watched, in the first place, she gave up on the endeavor.  He'd eaten; he would be fine, would be awakened by his own shivering before he had time to get into any serious danger, and hopefully at that point she would wake, also, on the chance that he opted not to do anything about it, as some form of test or trial of the sort in which he always seemed to be deliberately engaging. As if life itself--especially the difficult one they were carving out of the ground there in that high, desolate basin--wasn't a great enough trial, most times.  She shook her head--I know it’s a mistake to pretend I understand all that’s going on in that head of yours but sometimes I really would like to…it might make things a bit easier for both of us--rolled onto her other side in the hopes of convincing Einar's rather lively child to settle down and stop kicking her so hard in the ribs, and finally allowed sleep to come.

Breeze crisp and chill through the timber, Einar did indeed wake shivering long before he'd got all the rest his body wanted, curling up at first in a half-conscious attempt to conserve warmth but after a time stretching out again in the chill shade and letting the increasingly strong wind flow over him--got no business wasting an opportunity like this--a bit disgruntled at himself for giving up, somewhere along the way, on the daily cold training he'd been intending to do up at the spring.  Supposed perhaps his difficulty making it back to the cabin after that first time might have had something to do with his not pressing the issue since, that, and Liz's reaction to his having been gone for so long...  Still, he believed the training to be the correct course of action for him just then, helping him keep both mind and body in line and...right.  Keeping your body in line, is it? And how is that possible when you can't hardly even breathe half the time?  Need to focus on the ribs right now, on getting them to heal to where they won't be a constant threat and aggravation to you with every move you make...until then, everything else really ought to be given second priority, don't you think?  Which he did, to a certain extent at least, but doubted the thinking would be enough to keep him from hearing the call of that spring, and going, just as soon as he was able.  After the elk.  Got too much to do, until that's been taken care of. Just don’t have the time to spare. Will have to take advantage of little opportunities like this one, if I want to work on my training.

With which he rolled over--away from the patches of sunlight that were beginning to angle their way in beneath his shadowy resting spot, falling in golden serenity across Liz’s slumbering form and highlighting the wisps of hair that had worked their way out of her braid, turning them to a wreath of shimmering brown-gold around her face--and tried his best to go back to sleep. If he couldn’t spend his hour in the spring that day, at least he could nap in the shade, take advantage of the cool ground and the increasing strength of the wind. Wasn’t working, not with the wind whispering so icily through his single layer of clothing and each shiver feeling as though it must be tearing something in his side, which, he told himself, it probably was, the entire exercise seeming suddenly a ridiculous waste of the energy he knew he ought to be directing wholly towards healing. Ought to crawl out there in the sun and get some real sleep, as it would be a lot more productive than continuing to freeze yourself. And he was about to do it, too--longed for the deep, restful sleep that he knew would come out there in the sun--but didn’t get very far.

A lie, something told him, you know that’s all a lie, an excuse, just your weakness speaking, here, trying to talk you out of doing what you know you need to do, get you to take the easy path, and you’ve got to resist it, got to, or you’re not gonna make it, none of you are…you give in on one little thing, just the smallest thing, and it all falls apart, it’s all over…and he crossed his arms over the back of his head, pressed himself into the ground until he could hardly breathe, wishing desperately that he might find a way to shut out both of those voices for a while, wanting only to be left alone, and to sleep. Which--the argument starting up all over again, round and round in circles, he couldn’t get it to stop, no matter how he tried--he knew was not the best plan just then, not as cold as he had already become.
 
Liz found him when she woke later, curled around the trunk of a fir as if he’d been bound and determined to make certain he didn’t move from that spot in his sleep--which he hadn’t--trembling with cold and clearly in a good bit of pain, though somehow managing to sleep through it. Shaking her head she set aside the knife and spear which were still within easy reach there beside him, worked to free his claw-handed, locked-armed grip on the tree, meaning to roll him out into the sun where he could begin warming. Einar woke halfway through the process, freed himself from Liz’s insistent grasp and sat up, a fierce grin gradually replacing the pained grimace that had appeared fixed on his face, the realization that he had once again held out against great temptation more than compensating for the tearing, searing hurt in his side, for the fact that he found himself very nearly too cold and stiff to move. He had, once again, contended with his greatest foe on a most basic level, and had won. An interpretation of events to which Liz would have taken great exception, had he bothered to spell it out it to her.

“You get…any sleep?” He inquired, nodding in the direction of her sunny little clearing.

“Oh yes, I sure did. That was just what little Snorri and I needed, once he settled down and allowed both of us to rest. He sure is active lately! How about you? How was your…nap, if I even need to ask?”

“Good. It was real good. Just what I needed, too. Just the thing.”

Which for reasons Einar could not begin to fathom left Liz near tears and turning away to prevent his seeing it, hastily busying herself with neatening up the stack of willow and cherry chunks beside the smoking tent.

********************************

As yet another day slipped away towards evening, shadows swallowing the cabin and the alpenglow fading to a sublime shade of peach-purple on the nearby peaks, Liz could not help but think that their existence over the past several days had been a rather pleasant one in many ways--hard work shared together, plenty to eat at mealtimes, the baby active, healthy and noticeably flourishing within her, a good warm secure cabin growing ever more full of stored food for the winter and providing them shelter after their long days of labor….there was little more she could ask of life, really, and she found herself feeling tremendously blessed, complete, except--she watched Einar as he emerged from the cabin, limping out into the clearing and bracing himself against a boulder as he, too, watched the last light fade from the high and wild landscape of peaks and ridges that surrounded them--for the fact that Einar still seemed so lost a good bit of the time, sometimes taking actions that left her unsure whether or not he really wanted to go on living, and she couldn’t help him, because he simply wouldn’t let her get close enough. Wouldn’t even allow her to give him willow tea for the obvious hurt of his ribs, as if he wanted to hurt, believed he needed to do it, and though she had an inkling of what might be behind it all, she wished very much for a greater understanding. Figured, if nothing else, that it might help save him from a number of good whacks in the head with her war club, because she was getting awfully close to resorting to such measures lately, and might still do it if he didn’t shape up in a hurry…

Liz smiled, shook her head and was about to join Einar beside his watching-rock, but paused, looking up just in time to watch Muninn the raven sweep down over the spruce tops and land heavily on his shoulder; it appeared the impact would have knocked him off his feet, had he not been ready for it. The great bird croaked its greeting, picked a bit at Einar’s hair and accepted the little fragment of sheep jerky he pulled out of his pocket for it, sitting, eating and letting out a series of strange, harsh sounds that could from a distance have almost been mistaken for speech before flying off to its perch in the dead fir. It seemed the raven was there to stay.

“Do you think he’ll follow us when we go after elk? Or will he wait here in the evenings for us to come back?”

Einar squinted up at the bird, which appeared to have settled in for the night. “Figure he’ll follow us. Might not if we left while he was away wherever he goes during the days, but if we leave early in the morning, figure he’ll follow. And might come looking, find us even if we do leave while he’s away. They’re pretty sharp critters, these birds.”

“He certainly seems to have taken a liking to you. Doesn’t seem so sure about me, yet.”

“Well maybe he’s seen you in action with that rabbit stick! Sometimes I’m not so sure of you myself, when you’ve got that thing in your hand!”

“You heard me thinking about it, didn’t you?”

“About what?”

“Never mind! Let’s just say you had a near miss with the rabbit stick not too long ago, a very near miss…”

“Guess I’d better watch my back. Back of my head, anyway. What’d I do to earn such consideration? Moving too slowly on the fat rendering, was I? Guess a good whack with that stick now and then might help remind me to pick up the pace, but only if you can keep it just short of scrambling my brain… I need that thing, what’s left of it.”

And I need you! Need you to stick around for me and for this baby and sometimes I get the impression you couldn’t care less whether or not you do that. Einar! How can you not see the irony here! You talk about duty and honor and all that but when it comes to us--your family--I just don’t think you get it. Will you ever get it? Most of these recent injuries you’ve had, the ribs, the ongoing problems with your foot…the frostbite that started all the trouble with the foot, for that matter…have been largely of your own making. Could have been avoided, and should have been, and you probably wouldn’t even know what I was getting at if I told you all of this, would you?

She was angry, wanted to shout, to tell him all of it and pound it into him until he heard her, gave her an answer, but instead she just nodded, allowed that yes, he surely needed what was left of his brain and assured him that she would make her best effort not to scramble it the next time she found it necessary to “apply my rabbit stick to that bullheaded, addlebrained, three inch thick skull of yours. Yes, I’ll be sure and take every bit as much care as you do, in that case! ”

Which level of vitriol baffled Einar a bit as it seemed rather unlike her, but he guessed it must be due at least in part to the natural difficulties and challenges of the advancing pregnancy. Couldn’t be easy to have to carry that extra weight around all the time, getting kicked in the ribs and having one’s lungs restricted and internal organs crowded out of place by an active and growing young Asmundson like that, and he figured he’d better try and do a bit more of her portion of the work whenever possible, even though she’d never complained or asked for such assistance. He didn’t suppose she would; it wouldn’t be like her, which was one of the things he most respected and admired about her. Yes, that must be it. Would explain why she seemed a bit short with him lately, and he resolved to try very hard and do better. He had, after all, left her to handle the slicing and drying of the bear meat nearly single-handedly while he dealt with the injured ribs and moped around the cabin rendering fat…had wanted very much to do more, but she’d kept urging him to stay inside and take it easy, and I can’t do both, now can I? Well, this is difficult one to figure out, but I’ll just have to try and find a way to make it all work.

When he joined Liz in the cabin--she’d left rather abruptly after the comment about caving his skull in with the rabbit stick, and he had thought it wisest not to follow, at the moment--she was quiet, focused on preparing what appeared to be a pack to take elk hunting, and he left her to her work, using the time to assemble a small bag of his own, checking the condition of his atlatl darts and her arrows, and making repairs where necessary. Soon would come the time when he could again start the smoking fire and begin his vigil out in the clearing--had considered, the skies being very quiet that day, starting the smoking sometime in the afternoon, but had decided against it; too much risk of creating a smoke haze that might be easily spotted by any passing plane or nearby hunter, and they could not afford to draw the interest of either--and he worked quickly to finish the hunting preparations, knowing that it would be too dark out by the smoking tent to do much of the finely detailed work necessary to maintaining their weapons. Finally breaking her silence, Liz held out to him a lump of the travel food she had been mixing and packaging into sections of cleaned and dried bear intestine, each tied at the end with a bit of sheep sinew. The stuff was a mixture of melted fat, pounded, powdered sheep jerky and dried serviceberries, a variant of pemmican to which she had added her own touches by including the dried, powdered leaves of nettles, and a bit of honey for sweetness. Einar tried it and, much to Liz’s delight--she was delighted enough, actually, to forgive him for the moment for his earlier obtuseness, though she knew the time would still come when they’d have to talk about it, and considering his general reluctance to address any such thing, she would have to bring it up, as usual--broke off a second taste and ate that, also.

“Never had anything quite like this. You’re getting real creative with the pemmican. Meal in a bar.”

“That was the idea. Glad it works! Thought if I could get everything we’d need into one little packet like this, it would save us time out there while we’re hunting. No need to stop and harvest nettles or violets to throw into the stew, because the packet already contains all that. All we’ve got to do is toss one of the packets into a pot of boiling water for instant stew, or eat it just like this if we’re not having a fire. Here, come on and join me. I plan to test it out for supper tonight, before it gets dark and you have to start the smoking.”

[FOTH]

Though a bit leery about leaving Einar to his own devices for the night after seeing how cold he’d deliberately allowed himself to become during his earlier nap in the shade, Liz knew that she really did need her sleep ahead of the long day of hiking that most likely awaited them in the morning. As she would be most unlikely, looking at the matter realistically, to be able to prevail on him to give her a turn at watching the smoker so he could get some sleep, she might as well get a full night of it, herself. Better that one of them should be rested than that neither should, but she knew there would be little chance of her getting sleep unless she had done all she could to make sure, at least, that Einar had available to him the means necessary to keep warm and fed throughout his nighttime vigil. What he chose to do with them would be another matter, but at least she would have done her part. To this end she used the remaining daylight to haul the larger of the two bear hides out by the smoking tent--immensely thankful once more that they were now in possession of two such hides-- recreating the spruce needle pallet that had served her well as a bed that past night and placing beside it on a low granite slab several wrapped portions of the special pemmican-type mixture she had made them for traveling food, hoping the ready availability might encourage Einar to eat when he started getting cold. Einar was himself absorbed in peeling more willow and cherry sticks, chopping the peeled shoots into sections of no more than several inches long to increase their chance of burning and smoldering reliably, despite their being so green and wet, and when he glanced up and saw the results of Liz’s work, he met her with a somewhat confused smile.

“You camping out?”

“No, you are. This is so you can stay warm while you’re out here watching the fire. You can wrap up in the bear hide between times checking on it, sit here and work on one of your projects, whatever you need to do. And I made lots of extra pemmican, so I hope you’ll eat some of this I left out here for you, because if you don’t, the bears and coyotes probably will!”

“Bears and coyotes’ll probably eat me, if I end up lying down in that good soft bed you’ve made and going to sleep next to all this food! They’ll start on the pemmican, and just keep on going…”

“I’m not too worried about that. They wouldn’t get past the first bite before they realized they’d made a terrible mistake. Winter’s almost here. They’re looking for things that will help fatten them up…”

“Well,” he growled, “that certainly isn’t me, is it? See? This is a survival strategy, designed to render myself unappetizing to bears and coyotes.”

“Not a very good long term survival strategy, I wouldn’t think, but you ought to make it through the night just fine. If you eat up a good bit of that pemmican I left you.”

“Ha! If…” Probably because you’re gonna do me in with your war club if I don’t, that’s why! But he knew she was right, put one of the carefully wrapped food bricks into his pocket for later use. “Guess we’d better save most of this for tomorrow, and especially considering that we may be away from here for more than a day, if we find elk but have to follow them for a while to get in a good shot. May end up a good distance away before we end up taking one. After that, of course, we’ll be feasting on fresh liver, but these bars will be great until then! Also need to think about how we’re gonna close this place up. Got to do our best to make sure it won’t be an easy target for bears, since it’s sure going to be a tempting one with all the smells that are wafting out of there…” He closed his eyes then, taking in a great breath as if testing those odors himself, which Liz had no doubt he might well be; even with the increased sharpness the pregnancy had brought to her sense of smell--in the early months, certain routine odors of their daily life out there were simply too much, putting her over the edge of nausea--Einar’s remained markedly sharper, especially when he was hungry. Which he definitely looked to be at the moment, despite having participated at least nominally in testing out the supper stew. Finished sampling the plethora of food smells emanating from the open cabin door--sharp tang of dried chokecherries mingling with the light mustiness of dried mullein, yarrow, hound’s tongue, a hint of honey and the faint but distinguishable odors of sheep, deer and bear jerky--Einar shook his head, shivered in the thin and sharpening evening breeze, and continued.

“Figure we’ll hang the smoked meat and a lot of the other large pieces from the cabin, which should keep them pretty safe, and of course a lot of the jerky is still hanging in its baskets, so that’ll leave mainly the fat in the logs that’s somewhat unprotected should something get into the cabin. Well, lots of stuff in there we don’t want a big hungry old bear rifling through, actually. The dried berries, bulbs, medicinal herbs we’ve set aside, the hides…especially the hides…so barring that door needs to be one of our top priorities before we head out tomorrow. Do a good job of that, make it real difficult to tamper with, and I figure we ought to be fine for a few days. Still wouldn’t want to be away for too long and let them get the idea that the place is abandoned, fair game, but for a couple days…no problem.” He had to stop there, the unaccustomedly long speech leaving him fighting for breath, hand and elbow pressed urgently to his side in an barely-successful attempt to mitigate the movement of his ribs and reduce the hurt as he was seized by a fit of uncontrollable coughing that left him pale and wheezing in its wake, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand and staring at the ground until the worst of the pain had passed. Liz wanted to help him, did it in the only way she knew how, by keeping on as if nothing was wrong.

“Where are you thinking we should go? Where to start?”

“Up!” He rasped a bit breathlessly, untangling his arms and sitting up a bit straighter. “We need to go up, so when we get our elk, most of the hauling is downhill. I’ll do whatever needs to be done to get us the extra meat and hides, and I know that you will too, but if we can save ourselves a little work, it seems a good idea to do so. Probably end up with a good draw or two to cross, no matter how we do it, but a generally downhill route would be helpful. Was figuring we’d go up to the red ridge, then out along it and take a look down into some of the other basins, see if we can find one where the elk seem to be spending a lot of time, maybe look for a watering hole or at least a place with good grassy meadows that are still giving them some forage, get in as close as we can and wait for our opportunity. Gonna have to watch real carefully for other hunters, too, because we’re probably not the only ones who know where the elk can be found. There’s a good chance that some of them will still be up high, since the snow hasn’t really set in yet and the elk’ll still be up here.”

“I haven’t heard any gunshots recently. Not since that last batch…a week or so ago, wasn’t it?”

“Think so. Nope, me either, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been folks hunting few basins over from us where the terrain would muffle the sound. We’re gonna have to keep a real sharp watch out, maybe avoid fire altogether if we end up doing a night up high where there isn’t much cover. We’ll see.”

Einar had, as he spoke, been arranging the smoking fire, using a mixture of spruce and aspen to get the blaze going and then carefully adding a few peeled willow sticks, his head in the tent as he worked, and when he emerged in another coughing fit from the smoke and the strain of using extra breath to get the fire going, it was to find Liz missing, gone inside, he supposed, to go to bed, but he was too wrapped up in trying to get his breath to wonder much about it for a while.

*********************************

Liz had not gone to bed, not yet, had simply ducked inside to retrieve her sweater for Einar and had stayed there to give him a bit of space when he began having trouble with the coughing, but when he couldn’t seem to stop she rejoined him, worried that he would do further harm to his ribs. Doubled over beside the tent he was doing his best to press the damaged section of ribs, keep them in place as he coughed but she could see that he was getting tired, eyes wide and staring in the faint glow of the fire as he struggled for oxygen and she tried to hold him, wanting to get her arms around those ribs and hopefully make things a bit easier for him but he motioned her away, gesturing rather frantically at the tent and trying to say something. She guessed at his intent, hurried to open the flap and tend to the fire. He had, apparently, been concerned about its going out. By the time Liz re-emerged from the tent-flap, smelling sweetly of willow smoke and assuring Einar that the fire was well established and no longer in any danger of dying he had managed to get the cough under control, crouched there all doubled over with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring sightlessly out into the darkness--something in his face made her wonder if he even knew where he was, as she recalled previous times when breathing troubles of one sort or another had seemed to transport him back to a rather bad place, trap him there--and taking the incredibly fast, shallow breaths that his body was urging upon him in an unconscious effort to ease the burning, tearing hurt in his side and chest. She sat down beside him, put a hand on his shoulder and the way he jumped in reaction told her she had probably been correct in thinking him lost somewhere off in another time and place.

“The fire’s Ok now, doing real well. Here, let me get you some water…” Einar shook his head, held up a hand to shield himself and turned away from her, breathing too hard to consider pausing for water. He was beginning to feel terribly dizzy, sick, world growing blacker than warranted by the advance of night and terribly strange, knew he needed to do something about it but couldn’t quite think what, and Liz took over, seeing in the light of the still-open tent flap the dusky grey-purple tinge that had crept over his face and knowing he pretty urgently needed more air. Positioning herself behind him she got an arm around his middle, praying that he wouldn’t react suddenly or turn on her, pressing firmly on the damaged ribs and speaking softly--her name, his, reminding him where he was and talking about the baby, the upcoming elk hunt, anything she could think of to perhaps help keep him connected to the present--until he seemed to relax slightly, but still his breathing was far too fast, providing him inadequate oxygen, and she rubbed his arm, went on gently but insistently.

“The coughing was good, Einar, even though I know how it must have hurt, helped clear your lungs and you really needed that, but now you need to breathe…breathe…that’s right, nice and slow, try to slow it down and get full breaths…I’ll take care of the ribs, I’m not going anywhere, so you just concentrate on breathing.”

Several minutes later Einar was doing much better, breathing returned almost to normal--near normal as the injury and elevation allowed--and he freed himself from Liz’s grasp, turned to face her.

“Sorry…keeping you…from getting your sleep. You didn’t…have to do that.”

“Oh, I wasn’t ready to sleep yet anyway. I’d just gone in to get you this sweater, and I know you probably won’t want to wear it, but here it is just in case. I’ll hang it in the tree.”

“Thanks. Get some good sleep, you and little Snorri. Tomorrow, we will get our elk.”

“Einar. Look at me for a minute. Let me see your eyes. Are you Ok? I’m a little worried about your breathing…”

“Breathing’s…enough. It’s enough. Just got into trouble with the coughing, but if I don’t have to blow on the fire, shouldn’t have to cough. It’ll be a fine night.” With which Liz rose, squeezed his shoulder and retreated to the cabin, too choked up to return his good night wishes. Really wish this elk could wait. If you can’t blow on the fire without getting into major trouble with your breathing, I can’t see how you think it’s a good idea to be climbing ridges and hauling half an elk down here on your back. If nothing changes--for the better--in the night, it looks like we may just have to have a serious conversation in the morning before we close this place up and start after that elk.

Einar kept his vigil through the night, glad, after his earlier experience, that he had a valid and pressing reason to avoid sleep, as he was fairly certain what would have been waiting for him there. Even still--sitting cross-legged on the bear hide between his regular checks of the smoking fire and shivering violently at times in the sharp night breeze, for he had left Liz’s sweater hanging in the tree--he dozed a bit here and there, head hanging forward and elbows braced on his knees, seeing the fire-glow through half-open eyes and dreaming of warmth, food, an end to the relentless wind and the grating hunger-cramps twisting in his belly but waking each time with a resigned acceptance of his present circumstances; certain things were simply beyond his reach at the moment, even if he had, in reality, placed them there himself.

After a long night of watching, waiting and tending the smoker Einar rose somewhat stiffly to check the meat, squinting at it in the faint but growing light of the morning, cutting a slice and finding it ready, and he was ready, too, put out the fire and began scouting the nearby timber for the best places to hang the bounty for protection in their absence. Finding a suitable tree he took the chunks of thoroughly smoked meat down from their places on the tripod, disassembled the thing and used the nettle cordage with which he had lashed it together to hoist two of them high up into the branches of his chosen tree. For the third, whose weight he feared might have been too great in combination with the others, he needed more cordage, but aside from the twenty or thirty foot section he always kept wrapped and tied around his waist for easy accessibility, all of their cordage was stored in the cabin, and he did not want to wake Liz. Guessed he’s better get a fire going so it would be waiting for her when she woke, perhaps get a bit of water heating, and he did, stirring up the coals in their outdoor cooking pit and finding a few still living beneath the ashes. Awakened, it seemed, by the smell of the rising smoke, Muninn rasped a few notes, flapped his wings and rose from his nighttime perch. The raven was not behaving normally though, circling the camp and alighting for a few restless minutes here and there on rocks and branches rather than coming to Einar for the morning greeting and sendoff that had been his pattern for the past several days, and Einar wondered if he might somehow know that the day was different, might be sensing their imminent departure. Whether or not the raven could sense the impending change in the daily camp routine as he had come to know it, he was definitely able to sense trouble when Liz emerged from the cabin that morning, took off from the rock on which he had been keeping Einar company and made a hasty departure to one of the distant spruces overlooking the clearing.

************************

When Einar looked up and saw the angry flash in Liz’s eye, the determined stiffness of her stride as she approached, he glanced up at Muninn sitting safe in the topmost branches of the dead fir and wondered if he might not have been wise to join the bird. She didn’t have the rabbit stick, though, didn’t seem inclined, in fact, to take any action at all against him just then, despite her demeanor. Which he found most alarming. A good beating he would have understood, but what she had in mind…well, what did she have in mind? Guessed he’d be finding out soon enough, sat silent, waiting, as she glanced over the dismantled smoking tent, peering up into the trees at the work he’d done in hanging the bear chunks, and when she spoke, it was without a hint of the fury he’d ascribed to her movements. Well. Perhaps he’d misunderstood. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“You made a fire. Thanks! And got all the meat hung up. How did the hides turn out, after all that smoking?”

He handed her the sheep hide, which he’d folded and set on their aspen log bench after taking down the tent. “Real good. Turned them a real good subdued brown color, and now they’ll keep their softness even after getting wet. Won’t have to stretch them to get them pliable every time it rains, now.”

She sat with him, feeling and inspecting the freshly smoked hides and trying to work up the courage to start in on the thing she knew she must say, looking for guidance and wisdom in how to present the matter. Best that she simply start right in, it seemed. He never had much cared for pretense. “About this hunting trip. Before we go, lets consider the possibility that we have enough food…a good start, anyway, especially since we’ll be taking rabbits and squirrels on the trapline to supplement it through the winter. I know another elk or two would be a good thing, but here’s the problem. You (forgive me, Einar, for saying it this way, but this is the way it is…) are hurt pretty badly right now with those ribs, and despite the way you’ve been able to keep going and getting so much done, it’s a severe and life-threatening injury, and to look at it any other way just isn’t being realistic. Combining that with the fact that you’re still not getting anywhere near enough to eat…which so far as I can see is entirely your choice, since we now have plenty…well, I really don’t think climbing around on the ridge for a day or two and then lugging half an elk down on your back is the best way either to help your ribs heal, or to let you conserve your strength and start putting on the weight you’ll need just to make it past the end of November. So. I’ve said it.”

“Ah Lizzie…” he looked at her sadly, tone a good bit more gentle and subdued than usual, but firm. “I know you’re right on this one. Don’t like to admit it, but I’ve been having a mighty rough time with these ribs. Fact is though that we don’t have time right now to give that sort of thing too much consideration. Winter comes on mighty sudden out here, comes whether we’re ready for it or not, and right now the time is real short. We really are doing pretty well on food, especially with this last bear and all the fat we’ve got set aside, but the problem comes in when you look at the hides we’ve got. And what we haven’t got. We can make it through a winter without adequate clothing, but it limits when and where we can be out and about, puts us in a position where we’re either looking at skipping the trap line a lot of times and so eating through our stored food too fast, or risking frostbite or worse every time we stray too far from the cabin. You’ve done winters like that with me--parts of two of them--and you know I’m willing and can make it work, but it seems the benefits of having those extra couple of elk hides--and the materials for snow pants, mukluks, a parka for each of us--outweigh the risks of you going hunting right now with an ornery, crippled up old mountain critter who has trouble getting his breath now and then. Don’t you think?”

“I’m not worried about the risks of going hunting with you. That’s not what I said. I’m mostly just worried about you not coming back with me. We’re way up high here in the basin, the ridge is a couple thousand feet higher, and if you puncture a lung up there with one of those broken ribs, or end up with pneumonia--again--because you can’t breathe deeply enough and your lungs get congested…you do realize that you’re mortal, don’t you? You can die. Push yourself too far, and die. Sometimes I wonder.”

He smiled strangely, eyes distant, and she knew even before he spoke that she’d made a bit of a mistake. “Learned that one real early on in life. That I’m gonna die, that we all are. And that it can happen at any moment, and probably will… Been living on borrowed time for most of my life, and I never forget it. Never really had a problem living with that knowledge.”

“Right, but I’m not sure you’re making the connection between that knowledge, and your current situation.”

Einar shrugged. Current situation? I’ve been in worse… “All I can do it to keep going, doing my best to get us ready for this winter, make sure things go as well as they can for you and this baby.”

“But that’s just my point--you’re not. To watch you day after day, it would appear that you’re doing your best to make sure you’re going to leave us, one way or another. You sit out in the cold every chance you get until you’re hypothermic--I know it’s part of your training and that you know how to handle it, but surely you’re aware of what that sort of thing can do to your judgment, and what if you miscalculate one day, just once, and don’t stop in time? And I’m not here to see it happening and haul you in by the fire?--and you don’t eat. Like it’s some sort of personal challenge to see how long you can go without. You say you want to make it through the winter and be here for us but as far as I can tell you don’t eat at all unless I’m sitting right there with you and reminding you to do it, and you know what happens to starved rabbits and deer when the cold weather comes. You’ve seen it, found their carcasses. Winterkill. What makes you think you can’t end up that way? You’re flesh and blood just like they are, and the same physical laws apply to you, like it or not. It’s a deadly combination, cold and starvation, and you seem determined to keep after yourself until you finally perfect the mixture! Why? Why do you have to go on hurting yourself? What’s so important in that challenge that it’s worth leaving your family over? Because that’s exactly what you’re going to do, if you can’t get this figured out…”

He was angry, tried not to be, because he knew he had no right, not with her. Lizzie, if only I could answer those questions, could tell you…and when he spoke his voice was quiet, carefully controlled and with a hint of sadness which Liz had not expected to hear there. “I have no intention of leaving you. Either of you. I just want to go get us an elk or two, and looking at how quickly the weather’s changed just over the last week or so, this seems the time to do it. May be one of our last chances. Will you come with me?”

“I will come with you. But we’re going to have to some serious thinking about how to pack our elk, when we get him. Will you do that, at least? Try to come up with a solution that doesn’t have you carrying seventy five pounds on your back and doing more damage to the ribs? Please?”

“Well now I can certainly carry…yes. Yes, I’ll do that.”

At which she took him by surprise--and nearly knocked him off balance, too--with a big hug, a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Einar. Now let’s close up the cabin and hang the baskets of fat and the rest of the meat so we can start up that ridge! If we make it up there before dark, who knows? Maybe we’ll even take that elk tonight…”

Together they worked to secure the cabin, barring the door as they always did before leaving the clearing, but taking it a step further as Einar began hauling over the small dead aspens they’d used for their smoking frame, Liz joining the effort when she saw what he appeared to have in mind. Crossing two of the small aspens in front of the door Einar secured them to the house logs first with cordage and then with rocks, stacking flat slabs of granite across the bottom third of the door before he ran out of rocks. Stepping back to take a look--and to catch his breath, for it was coming hard and ragged with effort, ribs not liking the lifting of so many rocks--he was satisfied with the effort. A bear could, given time and enough motivation, still perhaps gain entry, but he believed the fortified door ought to hold off all such assaults at least for the time they intended to be away. Cabin secure, meat and fat hung from high branches and their packs ready, the two of them took one final look back at the place before starting up the trail to the spring, meaning to drink their fill and top off water containers there before tackling the first of several steep, timbered slopes that stood between them and their ridge top goal. Muninn the raven, watching them go and sensing, somehow, the finality in their actions, glided after them on great silent wings, shimmering black and iridescent green in the sunlight as he skimmed the aspen tops.

**********************************

Starting up through into the timber after a brief rest and watering stop at the spring, Einar and Liz made steady progress up over the wind-downed spruces and moss-slick rocks of the well-shaded slope, its steepness increasing near the top and the rocks--boulders, really, great hulks of granite looking ancient and somewhat mysterious all hung with moss--increasing in numbers, nearly taking the place of the soft, springs forest floor until they found themselves climbing through a timbered boulder field whose trees were rapidly becoming shorter, more stunted and farther between.  Nearing treeline, and Einar felt it, maintaining adequate levels of oxygen only through a careful management of his breathing, deep, deliberate breaths whenever their pace slowed in the crossing of one obstacle or another to help counter the still too shallow respirations that seemed to have become all but unavoidable at other times, and as hard as he was working to get enough breath, an equal amount of intensity was going into his effort to appear more or less normal to Liz.  Wasn't sure how well it was working and he somewhat resented having to do it at all just then, but knew the effort was both a good discipline and hopefully a step that would ease things for her, giving her less to worry about so she could think about her own climb.  Couldn't be easy ascending that steep slope while carrying the little one, not as easy as without, at least, though she never did show much sign of having trouble with it. 

Either she’s adapted rather well to the pregnancy, or she’s better than I am at concealing troubles like that.  Maybe a little of each.  She does seem to be doing awfully well with carrying the little one, looks like she's getting enough of the right things to eat and hopefully so is the baby...ought to be, with all the marrow and liver and good nettle greens she’s getting pretty often.  Seems she’s made a real effort to get that pot of raspberry leaf tea every day too, and has been doing it for several months, so that ought to help things go better at the birth.  Though I guess...he paused, about to hoist himself over yet another waist-height fallen spruce, its branches too tangled to allow for ducking beneath as he would have preferred to do, fighting for air and suddenly a bit more faint than he was comfortable with feeling, guess Susan had a point when she mentioned the wisdom of me having a shelter all fixed up for her a couple thousand feet lower, in case it looks like the baby’s gonna come early.  Oxygen can be...real challenge up here if a person’s having any troubles of that sort, and a not-quite-ready little one almost certainly would be.  Well.  Next project needs to be that birth shelter, it looks like.  Can make things more efficient by also using it as a cache location, place to put stuff we might grab if we had to take off out of here in a hurry, and also a good sheltered spot to spend a winter night or two if we ever got caught away from this place, or chose to spend the night out.  On the trapline, possibly.  I hope to trap that valley this winter, beaver, muskrat, and it'd be good to have a place to stay while we're out, especially if heavy weather moves in.  Might trap the other valley too, the one where we went scouting for acorns a month or so ago, but not sure yet.  It'd mean leaving tracks out in the open in the snow of the ridge, and those could be real easily spotted by any aircraft that happened by, either as part of the search or not, and would tend to get their attention, too, since the elk will be long gone from here by then.   Might get the area tagged for a second look, and we sure don't need that.  So, may stick to the other valley, the one just down from the cabin, where we'd be covered by timber for most of the descent,  Tracks and trails could still be a problem if anyone’s looking, but not nearly so obvious.  We’ll just have to see.  Have to get to that point, first.  And get to the top of this ridge, before that.  

Which was going to be a great enough challenge for that day, though getting his mind off the rib troubles by inspecting their present situation and planning for the winter had helped him significantly, carried him a good distance up the now-treeless rockslide without so much as thinking about pausing for a breathing break.  Liz was thinking about it though, was not entirely buying the carefully-constructed facade of normalcy with which he had thus far pushed himself up the slope at speeds that she herself could hardly exceed, saw the unmistakable strained paleness in his face and knew he was not getting enough air.  Goofy guy.  Doing this almost as much for your own benefit as for mine though, aren’t you?  Can handle the whole thing a lot more to your satisfaction if you can manage to fool yourself, and not just me, which you seem to have got pretty good at doing...  Well, it’s getting you up the hill, and if you have to pay for it later--which I imagine you certainly will--maybe it will turn out to be somewhat of a blessing, especially if it means you actually getting some sleep tonight.  It's been two or three, I'm pretty sure, since you had much at all, and you’re probably going to start seeing searchers behind the tree islands and danger in every passing aircraft pretty soon, if you don’t get some sleep.  Like happened on a couple of your solo hunting trips.  Not that there isn’t danger out there, probably more than I’m aware of, at times, but surely you’d know what I’m talking about, wouldn’t you?  If you were willing to admit it.  The dangers that aren’t there can be just as bad as the ones that are--and sometimes even worse.  So you just go ahead and wear yourself out on this climb, make it so you won’t have any choice but to sleep, and things ought to go alright up here.  I hope.   

Meanwhile Liz was beginning to have a difficult time keeping up with him, did not mind hiking at the back of the line for a while if that was how things worked best, but at the same time did not at all relish the thought of catching up to him ten or fifteen minutes later, only to find him sprawled on his face in the rocks.  Knowing from past experience that he was more than capable of pushing himself to that extreme and, at times, rather beyond it she picked up her own pace, catching him within minutes.  

"Einar...hey!  Little Hildegard needs some water, and maybe a few minutes for her mother to breathe, too.  Sit with us?"  Which Einar, having found a pace and managed to force himself to stick to it, was not particularly anxious to do, but she'd said the baby needed a break, and who was he to contradict such a thing?  So, he sat.

Muninn had been following them, stopping when they stopped to take up a post in the tree that provided him the best vantage or, lacking a tree, sometimes lighting on a rock until they were ready to move on again, taking to the air then and scouting on ahead, circling back to pick them up again.  This pattern he kept up with great consistency as they climbed, up until a certain point from which--resting momentarily on a rough outcropping of granite--they found themselves within sight of the summit.  It was then, chin on his knees as he stared back down into the valley-depths below them, that Einar first began to notice the raven behaving oddly, swooping down into a small hidden spot some three or four hundred feet below them and good bit to the North of the route they had taken, circling, returning and again making a quick return flight to the spot.  After three or four of these cycles the raven made a hurried descent on the resting pair, seated himself roughly on Einar's shoulder and gave him such a sharp tap in the side of the head that he very nearly got himself turned into stew meat right on the spot. 

Somehow managing to restrain himself from wringing the bird's neck Einar, already on his feet, watched in puzzlement as Muninn took off in an enthusiastic dive for the little pocket of aspen-surrounded meadow grass that had become his focus, taking up once more a position above it and circling, circling, floating on what appeared to be a column of rising air and appearing rather disinclined to stop.   Liz was on her feet by that time, too, dabbing with a clump of usnea at the little trickle of blood that ran down the side of Einar's face from the raven's rather emphatic message. 

"Do you think he's trying to tell us something?  It looks like he wants us to come down there to that little clearing, and..."  

"Yep.  Sure looks like it to me.  Why he's so intent on us following I couldn't say...don't know the critter well enough yet, but I do know what it usually means when a raven or crow circles a spot like that."

"Food.  It means food, doesn't it?"  

Einar nodded.  "Food of some sort, but it's real hard to say whether or not it's anything worth our while to go find out about...most anything tends to count as food to a raven."  

"As it is, according to my observations, to an Einar!  When he's eating at all..."

A grumbled reply, something about being an opportunistic omnivore, when he did eat, and Einar stirred restlessly, hitching the pack up a bit higher on his back and staring down into the still somewhat green depths of the tiny basin over which Muninn continued to circle.  It seemed the raven must be onto something, and though Einar knew the bird with its sharp senses might well have picked up on something as small as the bones of a weeks old dead ground squirrel, something told him more was involved.   Might be well worth their while to take a short detour down there and find out.  Having secured Liz's agreement--seeing the relentless pace at which he had settled into driving himself up that slope, anything that might allow him a bit of rest seemed a very good idea to her indeed, just then--Einar scanned the terrain below them, picking out what looked to him the most likely route through the sparse and stunted firs and aspens that lay between them and the basin.  

**************************************

Moving carefully down the steep, sparsely timbered slope that led to the little basin which had drawn Muninn’s interest, Einar did his best to keep them concealed, hurrying from one little spit of firs to another and taking advantage of the occasional cluster of stunted, snow-twisted aspens to work their way in a bit closer to the clearing down below. It was slow going, the slope cut here and there with shallow draws full of loose, rotten sandstone that threatened to give way and go clattering down under the pressure of their feet, and Einar, not yet having a clear idea what might await them down in the clearing, was determined to make their approach a quiet one. A precaution for which, as it turned out, there had been little need, for the ruckus reached their ears even before they made the ring of taller, more robust aspens that sheltered the clearing, a chorus of yips and snarls giving them a pretty clear indication of why the raven had thus far been unwilling to descend and make a landing, despite obviously having found something in that clearing to hold his interest. Coyotes. A good number of them from the sound of things, and Einar motioned to Liz to cross the slope, approach the clearing from the side opposite his own.

Reaching the edges of the clearing nearly simultaneously and crouching amongst the low-growing vegetation that flourished beneath the aspens, Liz and Einar made visual contact with on another, Einar pointing to a spot where three coyotes--had sounded like a good many more--stood snarling and tearing at what appeared to be the well picked-over remains of an elk carcass. Cautious, Einar studied the scene, trying to determine how the animal might have died and finding his answer in a length of frayed orange baling twine that hung swaying gently in the breeze from a head-high branch on one of the nearby aspens. Hunters had clearly been in the area, had--judging by the boldness of the coyotes--clearly left some time ago, too, yet still he was cautious, suddenly fearing the entire thing a trap and not wanting risk walking straight up to the carcass without further investigation. Catching Liz’s eye once more he made a circular motion to indicate his intention to make a circuit of the clearing, silently gesturing for her to wait for him where she was. Liz understood, took up a position against one of the larger aspens in the area where she could watch and cover him with the bow--the coyotes did not especially worry her, but something clearly had him spooked, and she wondered if he might have caught a glimpse of something that aroused his suspicions…not that it took much--until he returned.

Moving at a low crouch as he carefully surveyed the clearing, searching for any irregularity in the surrounding trees, any indication that the hunters might have been after more than elk during their time there, Einar worked his way around the borders of the clearing, testing the air, listening, hearing nothing aside from the rustling of wind in fall-yellowing aspens, the occasional muted growl and grunt from the feeding coyotes, and far overhead, Muninn’s harsh rasping as he made yet another circuit of the area. Easing over to the spot where the length of baling twine still hung quite noticeably from its aspen branch he searched for any further signs of human presence, seeing only what appeared to be a series of week-old tracks, or older--two individuals, both somewhere near six feet high but one a good bit heavier than the other--beneath the tree where the hunters had skinned and gutted the elk. Einar let out a guarded sigh, stepped out into the clearing, one eye on the coyotes and the other watching the sky, dart in place and atlatl ready for action.

Nothing happened. No sudden rush of armed men emerging from the trees to take him, no orange-feathered dart sticking into his shoulder, no distant but fast-approaching rumble emerging from behind the next ridge. Not even the coyotes seemed to be paying him much mind. Apparently didn’t regard him as much of a threat, which Einar did not take as a good sign, and he charged at them with a roar that very quickly changed their minds, left them scattering into the trees like shadows, disappearing. He waved to Liz and she joined him, standing with him over the much beleaguered carcass of what had once been a large bull elk. The head had been taken, hindquarters gone and only the smallest shreds remaining in the neck area, ribs and on the legs where the coyotes had not yet entirely decimated it, only the stinking, picked-over paunch remaining of the gut pile, but the thing that drew Einar’s eye was the animal’s hide, cast carelessly aside beneath an aspen and, dried out and somewhat chewed in one spot by the scavenging coyotes, but still quite useable. The skinning had been executed with a considerable amount of skill, little meat or fat remaining to either tempt scavengers or promote spoilage of the hide. Struggling to manipulate the stiff, drying leather Einar folded it up, lashed it to his pack and knew the day would, because of the raven's help, be counted as a success even if they did not put their eyes on live elk.  Which there seemed a reasonably good chance they might, considering that a herd clearly frequented the area, and had put in an appearance no more than a week ago when their scavenged kill was made. Muninn, growing more comfortable in the absence of the coyotes, found his way down to the clearing and took a seat in the great hollow ribcage of the deceased elk, picking at bits of meat and generally acting very proud of himself.

“Good find, critter,” Einar congratulated him, slicing a bit of meat from the elk’s neck area and holding it out to the bird. “Guess you can stick with us for the moment, if you’re gonna be showing us things like this. We’d have walked right past it, for sure.”

Liz, also, offered the bird a token shred of meat, which he accepted. “It helps to have our own eyes in the sky for once, doesn’t it?”

“Ha! Yeah, unless he ends up leading them to us with his strange behavior, circling over our camp or something until folks take a notion to come and investigate…we’ll have to watch him real close here for a while, but he’s looking more and more like an asset, for sure.”

“The hide’s still good, isn’t it?”

“Yep! Big one, with only a bit of damage here and there…should go a long way towards making us that second parka, or a pair of fur-lined snow pants.”

“It looks heavy. What do you say to hanging it way up in one of these trees here, and picking it up on our way back down?”

Einar looked doubtful. Or worse. Looked downright suspicious, actually, though he hadn’t necessarily meant for Liz to see it, as it wasn’t directed at her. “Nope, I don’t want us coming within a ridge or two of this place anytime again soon. Looks like a real straightforward situation, hunter took an elk, skinned it out and packed the meat and head down the hill, but…no. We need to take the hide with us right now, if we want to have it. Can cache it once we get back up on the route to the ridge, maybe, leave it under the rocks--since there aren’t really any trees to speak of up there--where we can pick it back up on our way down…some risk in that, but the thing must weight somewhere near forty five, fifty pounds, and we’d be moving a lot faster without it. Guess I really would like to minimize the time we’re gonna spend up on the ridge, as exposed as it is up there. Yep, let’s cache it on our route. I’ll carry it up the hill ‘til we find the right spot.”

The climb was a long one, Einar keeping himself going with some difficulty until they reached the slope that would be their likely return route, upon which he sat down rather suddenly and began burying the hide beneath the largest rocks he, with Liz’s help, could drag over it. Up that high there was very little danger of bears happening along, and they were both confident that no coyote could move the granite slabs with which they were protecting their prized hide. Hide secured as well as they were able they started once again up the slope, sun beginning to sink lower in the sky and red ridge-top still some fifteen hundred feet above. It did not take Einar long to find his pace once more, a rhythm that carried him up over the rocks, ordered his breathing and kept him moving.

Einar, reaching the ridge top somewhat over an hour later, found himself elated, skipping from rock to rock with a lightness and ease that belied his physical condition and finding the world--the entire thing, every detail of their stark, rocky windswept surroundings, peaks streaked with white in the distance and anywhere from six to eight layers of rugged, spruce-prickling ridges lying folded in a jumbled yet somehow strangely orderly  fashion to fill the intervening space--unbelievably, incomprehensibly beautiful, right, good. Liz, arriving breathless a few steps behind him and staring out at the panorama that awaited her view was similarly pleased to have reached the summit, an important landmark in their quest for elk, but it was with an understandable bit of caution that she viewed the sudden change in Einar's demeanor; he clearly wasn't getting enough oxygen, and the fact that it had not only ceased to bother him but left him rather more exuberant than usual did not strike her as particularly reassuring.  Not much to do about it, though, and she followed him as he took off across the great expanse of tilted, tundra-grassed, quartz-pebbled red sandstone, hanging back slightly as he danced and skipped like a madman along its far and fractured edge, great glacial bowls sweeping down in unbroken expanses of shattered rock and lingering snow to the timber some two thousand feet below, dancing on the edge of the world, arms uplifted to the sky.

They sighted their first elk near sundown, a barely perceived flicker of motion in a patch of grass that stood all brown and billowy like a cloud-shadow amongst lingering snowbanks catching Liz's eye.  When they sat down and pulled out binoculars it was to find that while the movement had indeed been that of an elk, the creatures so far away as to be difficult to make out, a good half mile away and far out of either atlatl or bow range--though I’d make the shot with a good rifle, Einar thought to himself, too bad I don’t have one of my rifles--and they decided to work their way in closer, moving carefully and planning on spending the night in one of the large clusters of stunted sub alpine firs that lay black and matted--for truly they were little more than mats of ground cover, at that elevation--closing in on the creatures just after daybreak the next morning.

[FOTH]

A great gully cut across the most direct route between Einar and Liz and the high, open ridge top that held the elk herd, and for a time they sat together on their red rock perch, studying the terrain and trying to decide whether they would be better off heading straight down and across the draw, or cutting far out of their way to the left, adding perhaps as much as a mile to their journey but avoiding the additional descent and climb that would be necessary to traverse the draw. Einar was all for taking the most direct line, striking off across the draw, down and then back up but Liz, wanting very much to spare him the additional climbing and thinking it wasteful of their energy to lose elevation when they would only have to gain it again, advocated for sticking to the ridge. After a bit of back-and-forth conversation Einar, who having sat for a bit and lost some of the animated vigor that had buoyed him along and kept him thus far moving more quickly than he perhaps reasonably ought to have been able, agreed to stick to the ridge top. Knew he would have been hard pressed to physically make it up the far side of the draw that evening, had they chosen that route. Ridge would give them a better view, too, allowing them to look down into the valleys on either side of the ridge and scout for the potential hazards posed by other hunters who might be camped down in the nearby basins or at one of the small, sheltered lakes that dotted the timber far below on the ridge’s far side.

Leaving the red rocks from which they had first spotted the elk the two of them returned to the ridge’s sharply fractured edge, following it around the head of the timbered draw and making their way towards the sandstone and tundra grass spur where the elk appeared close to settling in for the night, some of them already lying down. A good sign, so far as Einar was concerned, for it appeared they would still be there in the morning, hopefully giving the two of them the opportunity to work their way in close enough to make a good shot. A low escarpment of sandstone, they were able to see in the dimming post-sunset light as they neared the spot, stood not twenty yards from the area of the vast meadow where the elk had settled in for the night, and Einar spoke in hushed, excited tones as he detailed the night they would spend in the low evergreen vegetation some distance back from those rocks, stalking closer just before dawn and choosing an elk or two. Liz had already gone through the sequence in her mind but nodded enthusiastically at Einar’s telling of it, glad to see that he appeared to have regained a bit of the energy that had got him up the slope and onto the ridge in the first place, despite an obvious and ongoing struggle with the thin air.

As they traversed the ridge top together in the fading light of evening, Liz found herself increasingly confident in Einar’s ability not only to survive the expedition--she had at times been somewhat skeptical, though of course she’d never let on to him--but to help her carry out a successful hunt and return with the elk whose meat and hide would leave them much more well set to face the coming winter. He was, as usual, finding ways to adapt to his situation and to keep going, scraping together his strength and somehow finding it adequate to the task, but still Liz found herself a bit sad as she watched him, knowing that a good bit of his struggle was self-imposed and, from her perspective at least, avoidable. Wished she had some way to get him talking about it, perhaps help him through some of his present difficulties. If he wanted help, which it appeared he most likely did not, and she would have thought herself unkind and selfish for wanting so badly to interfere with his way of handling what was obviously a very personal matter, had it not appeared so likely that his way was going to leave their child without a father. That possibility, it seemed, gave her the right--if not the duty--to try and interfere in ways which she would not ordinarily have considered. Well. Perhaps they would have such a talk in the near future, but not that night. Had plenty on their plate already for that night, with darkness coming on quickly, camp to set up and supper to eat--not that Einar would be likely to want any, and she shook her head at the thought, hoped she was wrong--and Liz shook herself from her contemplation, hurried to catch up to Einar, who had once again pulled ahead and was nearing the little smear of evergreen vegetation which was to be their camp for the night. Muninn, having already flown ahead and circled the elk herd a time or two, was settling himself in the topmost branches of one of the little firs that jutted up scrawny and stunted from the ground-creeping mats of the same species, little tree bowing and swaying under his weight, but holding.

That night, cold in a fireless camp, for they had not wanted to do anything to spook the elk herd where they lay sleeping not five hundred yards distant, Einar lay shivering in the freshly smoked deer hide on their springy, somewhat soft bed of living evergreen mat, his earlier elation vanished, all the brittle joy of the afternoon crumbled and gone black around him, leaving only the hurt of his ribs as he sucked in the thin, high altitude air and a hunger that grated and twisted and left him pressing an elbow into his stomach, feeling disconcertingly weak and ready to do just about anything to experience a bit of relief, get a good quiet night for once.  He fought it, that weakness, knew it was at such times when he must make his greatest effort and, though with difficulty, he overcame.  Lay there still and uncomplaining--even, finally, quieting the would-be complaints that wanted to trip over one other in his mind, speaking all at once in a cacophony of anger and frustration and hungry, hurting yearning anguish, a great challenge indeed and a difficult one--as the last light faded and overhead a great arc of stars began appearing one by one to pierce the sky with their cold, unblinking light.

Liz, weary from the day’s climbing and herself reasonably comfortable on what felt rather like a soft and supportive hammock of living vegetation, was unable to quite settle in and give herself over to sleep, sensing Einar’s struggle and wanting so badly to ease things for him that at last she felt her way over to the spot where he had curled up near her on the fir mat, hand on his ankle so as not to take him by surprise. When he did not react she curled herself around him, draping her blanket--the freshly smoked sheep hide, for those of the bears had been too heavy to reasonably carry--over the two of them, for his was clearly proving inadequate. For a time Einar lay stiff and unmoving, trying not to shiver and disturb her as he stared up wide-eyed and wrinkle-browed at the stars overhead but she was insistent, working some warmth back into his shoulders, smoothing the strained furrows from his forehead and wrapping an arm around his middle, holding his ribs until his breathing grew a bit easier, and at last he yielded, relaxing against her and taking her hand.

“Tomorrow, Lizzie, we get our elk…”

*************************

Morning, and the elk were gone. Einar did not at first believe his eyes, crouched there blinking in the dim predawn light--he’d awakened with the first hint of grey on the eastern horizon, rolling stiffly from their evergreen bed, huddling close beside a boulder in hopes of avoiding some of the wind and working to restore some flexibility to cold limbs--scrubbed his face with a sleeve in an attempt to clear up his vision but when he looked again there was no doubt, and he could not understand it. Breeze sighing up from the valley below--that it had been doing so all night he was quite sure, having felt its every gust and whisper quite keenly through his thin covering of deer hide--could not possibly have tipped the creatures off to their presence, as it put them directly upwind of the bedding area, and certainly neither he nor Liz had done anything in the night to spook the animals. What, then? Squinting into the dimness he searched for an explanation, knowing such animals, once bedded down for the night, would not tend to leave before daybreak without some serious provocation, and urgently needing to know what might have prompted their departure. Nothing made itself immediately obvious when he retrieved the binoculars and got them focused on the area--not an easy task, as he found himself unable to quite still the cold tremors in his hands, entire body soon trembling in the sharp morning breeze, and he knew he needed to eat--the elk meadow looking exactly as it had that past evening, except that it was now devoid of elk.

Perhaps, he thought to himself, he’d simply overslept, got the wrong idea about how early the creatures might leave in search of water, and slept through their departure. Interesting thought, and a good bit less sinister than some of the other possibilities, but Einar knew better. It was practically still dark, and he’d observed enough elk to know that they ought to just be beginning to stir about, a few early risers lumbering up from their grassy beds to begin nibbling at a bit of breakfast. Something had spooked them, caused them to leave in the night, and Einar, holding his breath and trying his best to keep the glasses from dancing and jerking, searched out along the ridge to the spot where it dropped away steeply to the valley in a jumble of sharply fractured red sandstone reminiscent of the rim on which he’d balanced so joyfully that previous afternoon, and there, amongst the broken rock and scattered, snow-patched timber at the edge of the world, he saw them. Not the entire herd so far as he could see, but three or four elk were clearly visible there amongst the timber in the strengthening light, large, dark-maned shapes standing out clearly against the patch of snow on which they stood, watchfully observing the vast open space of the meadow and appearing tense, nervous, ready to bolt at any moment. Beginning himself to feel rather the same way, Einar dropped to his belly and crawled back over to Liz where she lay still peacefully sleeping on her mattress of live fir--alone, he noted, for Muninn the raven had disappeared too, sometime in the night, not like him at all--hand on her shoulder until she woke and looked at him. Silence, he motioned to her, silence, and follow me…

Crawling together back over to the boulder from which the elk meadow was visible--it wasn’t easy for Liz, heavy with child, to low-crawl anywhere at all, but somehow, sensing the urgency in his demeanor, she managed it--Einar pointed in the direction of the departed elk. Liz saw at once the problem, her heart sinking as the prospect of a fairly easy and successful hunt faded from before her eyes, but she could not understand Einar’s insistence on silence, the urgent, furtive energy behind his movements--would have understood had the elk moved closer in the night, been within earshot, but she had already looked, had seen nothing--tried to ask him about it but he hushed her once more, voice a mere breath of air that she had to lean close to hear.

“Quiet. Got to keep things quiet. Sound really carries up here.”

“Carries where? What are you concerned about? They’re already gone…”

“What do you think spooked the elk…?”

“Well, I guess it could have been just about…” She stopped, looked at him with eyes suddenly wide, face gone white, and he knew they were thinking the same thing.

“Yeah. Exactly. Not many things up here that can prod an elk herd into moving before dawn, and until we get our eyes on whatever did it this time, we got to assume we have company up here.”

Liz got very quiet then, rolling to her side and scooting back until she was mostly concealed beneath the mat of evergreens on which they’d slept, not wanting Einar to see just how alarmed she was at the possible implications. It’s so open up here. What are we going to do? We’ve got nowhere to go, nowhere at all without exposing ourselves as we cross hundreds of yards of open meadow…they’ll see us if we try to get away! Ashamed at her moment of near-panic and seeing that Einar appeared entirely calm--dead-calm, actually, deadly calm and looking more like a hunter, a predator than he had in a very long time--she took a big breath and tried her best to push aside the rising frenzy within her--wanted to run, to get down into the lowest area she could find and make a run for the timber far below--slow her thoughts and come up with some way to help. Einar already had a way, was rolling up the hides under which they’d slept, loading them into packs and she helped him, quickly getting into her own pack and--she hadn’t forgotten about his injured ribs, even if he seemed to have, for the moment--easing Einar’s onto his back. Nodding his thanks, he crouched beside her, face close to her ear.

“See in the timber over there on the edge? Where the land falls away? Three, four elk over there still, so I think that’s where the herd went. Gonna have to be real careful how we handle this one since whatever spooked the critters may still be in the area, but if we keep down below this little rise of rock here, walk kinda stooped over and even crawl at times, looks like we can probably work our way over there without being spotted by anyone who might be over beyond the elk meadow, on the ridge. Elk were looking over in that direction just a minute ago, like that’s where the threat was. I still intend to take an elk if we can. Plus, that’ll give us access to that timber so we can hopefully drop down into the valley without much chance of being seen, afterwards. Not many good ways out of this place, but that looks like one of them.”

Nodding, Liz thought that sounded like a very good idea, especially the part where they were able to get away off the terrible open expanse of the ridge without spending too much time out where they would be visible to whatever unseen enemy might be lurking in the dark rock-shadows or behind one of the tree islands similar to the one which had sheltered them for the night--she was sure beyond any doubt that the elk had been spooked by a human or humans, though she couldn’t have explained the cause for her conviction, had Einar asked her just then--for she had not seen how they were to accomplish anything of the sort. Motioning to her to follow, Einar started off along the low rise of rock behind which they had passed the night, himself keeping low and urging her to do the same, pausing now and then to carefully raise himself by the few inches necessary to give him a view of the open expanse of the ridge beyond their somewhat concealed route, never seeing a thing out of place but always alert for any sign of human presence. Aside from the odd behavior of the elk…

It took them a good fifteen or twenty minutes to work their way along those rocks, keeping low and moving cautiously until the rocks ran out, a good hundred yards short of the area of broken rock and timber where Einar had spotted the remaining elk, and their route off the ridge. Einar stopped, lowered himself to his stomach on the ground and squinted across the wide open expanse of yellowing grass before them. Hadn’t counted on the rocks running out, had been prevented by a dip in the land from seeing that they didn’t extend all the way to the timber, and the unforeseen occurrence left him somewhat unsure how best to proceed. Motioning to Liz to keep low he peered up over the little ridge; nothing in sight save a nearby snow bank, some scattered red rocks and a lot of short-cropped grass, nothing to prevent their reaching that band of timber, and safety, and he was about to lead them quickly out into the open and across, when something caught his eye, a flash just on the edge of vision almost behind them on the far side of the ridge, and he stopped.

***********************
Pressing himself into the ground and inching forward until he could see around the shoulder of the last rock in the long, low wall of red sandstone, Einar tried once more to catch sight of the moving object that had halted his would-be dash across the open area of tundra grass, found it in the soaring, shimmering form of Muninn the raven, sunlight reflecting off his feathers. Letting his breath out in a great sigh--not spotted, then, by the enemy, if there is any enemy--but knew better than to let his guard down. The raven was behaving oddly, circling and swooping over an area of low-growing timber just on the far side of the large snow patch that lay behind the elk-bed meadow, and Einar watched him, following his movements and finally seeing--blood ran cold at the sight--the cause of the bird’s alarm. Two men stood partially hidden by a scraggly little stand of firs, one of them scanning the area of broken rocks and timber at the edge of the ridge with binoculars--the very spot to which Einar had been going to lead them after their dash across the open area, and he shivered at the cold shock of what he had almost done.

Thank you Lord for that raven and his strange ways, doggone fool bird just saved our necks…now, what are you fellas up to? Hunting, it would appear, just what might your target be? And how did you manage to spook thirty elk into leaving their beds without taking one? I sure didn’t hear a gunshot at all, and would have, unless…yep. Bet that was it. Bet a few of those elk critters were sleeping down on the other side of the ridge, and you took a shot at one, scared the rest off and the rocks kept ups from hearing the shot. Unless you’re bow hunting just like we are, but I’m pretty sure that season’s long come and gone, which would make you poachers of one sort or another, now wouldn’t it?

Regardless of the details--and not having even considered yet in more than passing detail the very real possibility that the pair might be up there hunting not elk, but more human prey--the threat to them was obvious, as was the fact that they wouldn’t be going anywhere until those men moved on, not unless they wanted to run serious risk of being seen. The ridge was far too open to allow for a safe egress, the only good quick way down into some cover being the one that lay immediately before them, useless now because of the proximity of those two camouflage-clad men. All they could do, so far as Einar could see, was to very carefully make their way back along the rocks to their tree-island sleeping spot, conceal themselves and wait. Inching backwards on his belly, digging into the ground with boot toes and elbows for a little traction, Einar wormed his was back to Liz, spoke into her ear in a barely-whisper.

“Two men up there, behind us and about two hundred yards away on the other side of that big snow patch. Hunters. Can’t tell if they got an elk, but they seem to be watching the ones in the trees. Got to go back. Get yourself turned around, keep real low and watch the rocks under you. Don’t let them clank together, scrape together. Can’t make any noise.”

With which he began the slow, painstaking process of turning himself around without allowing any part of his anatomy to stick up above the rocks, a fair challenge for someone with a good bit more flexibility than he was currently blessed with, and a terribly painful near-impossibility, considering his ribs. Einar hardly noticed the grating hurt in his side, the catch that took his breath, focused entirely on safely accomplishing the maneuver, making it and starting off at the low, slow crawl that represented their only chance of regaining the timber undetected. Liz followed his example, having to drag herself along on her side because of the baby, but making it, the two of them arriving back at the tree island out of breath and sweating in the strengthening sunlight of the morning. Easing himself up by inches at a time until he could peer between mats of vegetation and get a look in the direction of the two intruders Einar found that they had not moved, still studying the timber into which the elk herd had retreated. Well. At least they’re not looking in our direction… Could be worse.

“Who are they?” Liz breathed into his ear. “Are they here for us? What if they start checking the little evergreen patches? There are only three or four on this whole section of ridge, and we’re in one of them…”

“We take them, that’s what. But hopefully it won’t come to that. If they’re here after elk they got no reason to go poking around in the evergreens, and more likely than not, that’s exactly why they’re here. So we wait. Keep watch on them, and hope they either get their elk soon and head down, or give up for the morning and leave. At which point we’ll drop down off of here into the draw that we opted not to cross on the way over here, where all the trees’ll hide us, let us put this ridge behind us.”

Which sounded just fine, except that the men seemed rather disinclined to leave. Instead, the two of them climbed on a low rock outcropping near the spot where Einar had first sighted them, taking seats against the rocks and, always keeping a bit of timber between them and the spot where Einar and Liz lay waiting, continually scanning the ridge with their binoculars as morning slipped on towards noon. If they were elk hunters they certainly were behaving strangely, and as the hours passed a horrible, cold-sick feeling began growing in the pit of Einar’s stomach, crawling up his spine and setting him to jumping at every little whisper of wind through the yellowing grass, every distant rasp of the raven as he scoured the ridge, one side to the other, unceasingly. If the men were not simply innocent hunters, if they were part of some new search effort that might mean the coming of aircraft to assist in their scouring of the nearby ridges and basins…Einar shuddered, glanced up at the sky and strained his ears for any hint of an approaching rumble, but heard nothing. Totally exposed they would be, trapped with nowhere to go and little to do other than wait for the ground team to close in, take as many as they could and end things right then and there on the barren, windswept ridge. Not the way he wanted it to go, especially not for Liz and the baby, and it suddenly seemed rather urgent that they get in beneath what little cover was available to them, lest they be sitting ducks for any aircraft that might happen along. His other concern was that they didn’t have a tremendous amount of water left between them, the snow banks that could easily have replenished their supply as hopelessly out of reach as the creek way down in the valley at the moment, and with this in mind it seemed fairly urgent that they get out of the open, out of the sun here they would not only be shielded from aerial and ground observation but would be better able to conserve what water they did have.

Liz followed him as he crawled in beneath the largest cluster of tiny, stunted trees available to them there where they’d spent the night, the space small, cramped and tangled with the dead, twisted iron-strong branches of those hardy evergreen specimens and every move taking minutes to complete with the knowledge that any unnatural bending or swaying of the trees might well draw the attention of the enemy--for the men were indeed enemies, whether or not part of the official search--but after a time they got themselves worked into place beneath the dense mat of timber, secure in the black shade, ready to wait things out.

And wait they would.

***********************

It was cold there in the dark tree shadows, wind blasting across the ridge, behaving exactly as it had in the night and carrying occasional sounds from the waiting men to their hiding place, a comfort to Einar as it would mean very little possibility of the watchers hearing any accidental sound they might make. Wind was certainly not a comfort to him physically--though he did not even seem to notice, absorbed as he was in keeping an eye on the two men and trying to work out a plan by which he might get the three of them down off that ridge without being observed, and do it before things managed to turn bad in some way, worse than they already were--as he ended up shivering and freezing in pretty short order, Liz wrapping the deer hide around his shoulders, rubbing blue-cold hands and giving him a packet of the travel pemmican in the hopes it might provide him a bit of energy and warmth. Einar shook his head, pressed the packet back into her hands and went right back to watching.

“Don’t know how long we may be here. Better save it.”

“We have more, and you know it. You helped me pack. What’s happened to you? Why won’t you eat anymore? You eat so little most times that it doesn’t take much at all for you to end up hypothermic, and you have to know this isn’t going to work well when winter comes. It’s not going to work at all, in fact. You’re going to die. ”

Einar shrugged, nodded in the direction of the waiting men. “Not a good time to have this conversation. They might hear us.”

“Well that’s one more reason to eat the pemmican, then. So you’ll have the energy to run fast and far if they do hear us! That, or fight them off…but with this wind we’re having, they’ll never hear us. We’re directly upwind of them, and it’s really howling.”

He nodded, couldn’t dispute the truth in her observation, so she went on.

“You know this place so well, and you’re the most knowledgeable and wise person I’ve ever met when it comes to understanding how to get along in it…how to get along anywhere, really, improvise, find a way to get by with what you have…I mean, just about everything I know about surviving and living out here, you taught me!”

“Nah, you picked up a lot of that yourself. And taught me things, even. You’re a real good student.”

“Thanks, but that’s beside the point. Point is that I just don’t understand how you can have so many years of experience out here, have the knowledge and the ability to effectively pass it along to others, to teach, yet be so unable to apply what you know to your own life. You know what you need to do, I’m sure of I, because you’ve told me, explained in detail how the body breaks down different foods for energy, you remind me all the time to make sure I’m getting the right things for the baby, getting enough, so I know you understand the concept. Why can’t you do the same for yourself?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Tell me.”

Einar just shook his head, stared at the ground, spoke in a voice somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “You already know the story.”

“Which story? The one of your time…over there. Is that what this is all about?”

Einar was getting angry, didn’t like that she was interfering with his focus on the current situation, which he knew could easily turn more dire than it already was, and in a hurry, liked even less the way she was trying to drag him into a conversation he really did not want to have, came close to snapping at her but restrained himself. Didn’t want the men to hear him. And figured he probably owed her some sort of an answer, anyway, much as he dreaded the discussion that would surely ensue.

“Yeah, guess that’s the one. Don’t know if I could explain it to you if I tried.”

“I wasn’t there with you, so know I wouldn’t be able to entirely understand it even if you told me, but…it’s about your friend Andy, isn’t it? The one who didn’t escape…”

Einar nodded, staring at the ground, teeth clenched. “I know this isn’t right, really, but sometimes it seems the only way I can make that right…can even begin to make it right is to…I left him there Liz, left him for them to…to torture and to starve, and they did and he died. I should have stayed…”

“When we talked about this before…there was nothing you could have done for him, Einar. You said so yourself. Nothing at all, and if you’d have stayed you would have almost certainly died, too--you told me that, told me you found out later that they didn’t intend to let either of you live past the time when they moved their camp a few days after you left, so what would have been gained by you staying? I don’t see that anything would have been gained.”

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it does. It matters that you lived. Matters to me, and matters to your child. Einar…if you were up here all by yourself, or even living down there in civilization or on the edge of it with no one depending on you, then maybe I wouldn’t have an argument, wouldn’t be right to try and talk you out of living--and dying--this way if it was what you believed you needed to do, because if I’m hearing you right that’s exactly what you’re saying…that the only way you feel like you can make things right is to die like your friend Andy died, the way he died. I’d probably still try to talk you out of it, as a friend, if I had the opportunity…which I wouldn’t, would I, because there’s not much chance you’d intentionally let anyone that close to you…but that’s not the situation. You’re not alone. This isn’t about you, and it isn’t really about me, either--I can take care of myself--it’s about the baby. Your baby. Because of him, you don’t have the right to live any way you want to, or even any way you need to, if it interferes with his right to have a father and a provider. Can’t you understand that? Can’t you see that he’s got to come first before…whatever it is you’re putting first right now? Not yourself, I know, because you’re obviously not putting yourself first, but this...thing…needs to take second place to your son. And it needs to start happening now.”

“I know it Lizzie, I know.”

“Then act like it. Live like it. Live, Einar.” Once more she handed him the pemmican, and he ate, grateful--oh, so grateful; he couldn’t stop the tears at that first taste--and angry and confused and terribly ashamed all at once, and though he wasn’t to have time to begin sorting all of it out just then, he did quickly finish the little packet of pemmican, a good thing indeed, as the next thing either of them heard was the distant but fast-approaching buzz of a small helicopter.

*********************************

The helicopter did not immediately approach their ridge top, made a pass, first, up the valley, rotors flashing in the sunlight as they looked down on it from above, leaving Einar to hope it might pass them by but he knew better, knew it was headed for their ridge, for them, had to be, none of it a coincidence, not the men who had spooked the elk and certainly not the great bird that had come out of nowhere so shortly after their reaching safety once more beneath the trees, and as he painstakingly worked to squirm himself into a better position, more concealed, deeper within the shallow but matted cover of timber that shielded them from detection, he found himself very glad he hadn't been coughing much at all that past night, not nearly as much as he had before starting up onto the ridge, for surely the waiting men would have heard him. No sooner had the thought occurred to him, though, than he felt that insidious itch at the back of his throat, took a hasty sip of their precious little remaining water in the hopes of quieting it and, when that didn't work, stuffed a few fir needles into his mouth and chewed them for their bitter, acidic juice which, fortunately, did the trick. Liz was watching him, looking for direction and he wished he had some direction to give her, wished he could see clear a way out of the situation, out of the trap that their little shelter had become, but he could not. Couldn’t breathe, either, ribs digging mercilessly into his side and putting him back into the pattern of incredibly rapid, shallow breaths he had been struggling so to avoid over the past few days, felt that cold, tingly sensation creeping up the back of his neck and knew he’d better find a way to get more oxygen, consciously slowing his respirations and breathing through the pain, beginning to reverse the dangerous slide towards unconsciousness. And then it was upon them.

Nowhere to go, no time to do it, even had there been, and Einar pressed himself as well as he could into the needle-covered ground, hardly enough room to do it, couldn’t actually lie down, as closely clustered as were the tiny, matted firs of their little island, and the best he could do was to wedge himself into a contorted position by which a hip and a shoulder touched the ground, and the contortions hurt his ribs terribly, but he was hardly feeling it by that point. Liz--watching him and more aware than he of his distress at the change in position than he was, himself--wanted to help, tried to pull aside one of the stiff, stubborn-dead branches that was pressing into his side but he waved her away, quietly urging her to get herself as well as she could onto the ground. And don’t look up, whatever you do, don’t look up or your face’ll stand out all white and visible in all this mess. Even more constricted than he by all the turns and twists and the strong, grabbing hands of the timber Liz struggled for a moment to get down lower and then was still, the beast nearly on top of them by that time.  It hovered, not quite directly over them as near as Einar could tell but over the ridge's edge and the timber into which the elk had disappeared, low; they could feel the wind of its rotors, dust in the air, rock-grit between their teeth. Einar never found it easy, to say the least, discussing the things Liz had brought up in their brief but extremely serious conversation just before the appearance of the helicopter, always found himself carried back to some extent to the horrors of his time in that little bamboo hut by such conversation, whether initiated by Liz, Bud Kilgore or simply carried on as a dialog within his own goofy brain, and when that happened he almost without exception began losing track of time, of his place in the world, had to struggle to bring himself out of it but this time was worse, a great deal worse with that chopper making an appearance and hovering over them, and he fought hard to maintain his ties to the present. Knew he must do it, for Liz and for the baby. Figured it might help if he could get a look at the chopper, and he squirmed slightly onto his side, squinted out through the heavy tangle of evergreen until he caught a glimpse of the beast, a small white Jet Ranger--not much of a beast, really; didn’t look all that threatening, as such things go--with a crisp yellow stripe along its side. 

Thing wasn't moving, seemed set on hovering there between them and escape until by the sheer force of its existence it drove them running in an blind frenzy out into the open, and in a half second of near panic Einar realized that in giving his full attention to the aerial intruder he'd quit watching the camouflaged pair up in the rocks, hurriedly worked himself around so he could get a glimpse of them, half expecting to find the men closing in on the little cluster of firs, weapons ready and the tangle of evergreen branches preventing him from using his atlatl to stop them.  Chopper might be a distraction, just there to draw our attention as they work their way in close and neutralize us, dart guns or dart spears or poison gas or something, and I’m not gonna…  men hadn't moved though, when finally he caught sight of them once more, had, if anything, just lowered themselves a bit in the rocks to avoid the worst of the rotor wash, and it puzzled him, led him to believe that though they were almost certainly up there after him and with a rough idea of his whereabouts, they must not yet have a fix on his exact position, must not yet know which tree island sheltered him

Good, gives us some chance to...what?  What does it give you a chance to do?  If you were here by yourself the course of action would be pretty clear, but you’re not and...ah, doggone it Lizzie, I’m not letting them take you, gonna find us some way out of this one...  No way presented itself, though, no additional escape route he had previously overlooked; if they took off running, crawling, leaving the shelter of the trees in any way while that beast was in the air, they would be seen, no question about it, and then it would all be over, leaving them trapped out in the open and able to take perhaps a man or two--ha!  Forget that, I'm taking down that chopper--before they took him, took them, and then there would be no baby, life ended before it was able to fully begin, and that thought filled Einar with a quiet fury such as he had seldom ever known; those men were going to die, all of them, every last one, and he would lead Liz to safety down in the nearby timbered draw before reinforcements could arrive, break their trail and go on the run again, give them all another chance at life, if a slim, grim, winter-pressed one...

He turned to Liz, got her attention with a hand on the shoulder.  "You stay here.  I do not want you for any reason bringing little Snorri out there into the line of fire.  I've got a plan.  Stay put, keep an arrow ready in case I come running in your direction with one of them still following me, and be prepared to run for the draw.  I'll be back for you, and I'll be in a hurry."

"What are you going to do?  They don't even know we're here, do they?"

"No, not yet, not that they're letting on, but I don't trust it.  If they don't know, they will soon enough, when they finish searching the timber over there and start on the tree islands, one by one, probably using infrared. Plenty cool enough up here for that to be effective, even through this covering of timber.  But it's not gonna come to that.   They're not gonna have time to find us, and if they happen to see something, sure aren’t gonna have time do anything about it. Not gonna make it through the next ten minutes."  And they likely wouldn't have--Einar all stirred up from his earlier conversation with Liz, possessing a fully formed plan and entirely bent on their destruction--had not events intervened. 

***********************

Before Einar could gather himself to make his dash from the tree island--he had it all planned out, was taking the chopper first, dart through the windshield while concealed from the two men on the ground by the timber, then picking them off one by one as they rose, distracted by the floundering machine--the helicopter banked sharply, moving itself definitively out of range as it hovered over the valley, lower, lower until nothing remained visible but the sun-flash on its rotors. Not good, not part of the plan, and Einar struggled to release a bit of the action-ready tension from his muscles. Had almost been too late; already his first dart would have been in the air had not the grabbing, gripping tangle of branches prevented anything but the slowest and most deliberate of movements in exiting the timber.

Chopper wasn’t coming back, not right away at least, seemed to have found something of interest down there below the ridge crest, which left Einar wondering whether he ought to go ahead and take care of the two men up in the rocks, get them out of the way before the great beast made it s return. His chances of surviving the encounter would seemingly be better if he wasn’t faced with having to take on both groups at once, though at the same time, he had been counting on the distraction of the failing chopper to ensure that the pair’s attention was firmly focused in another direction when he made his move, reducing the chance they might see where he had come from, go looking for Liz in the event something went wrong and he wasn’t able to take them both right away. Easing around until he once more had the men within view he trained the binoculars on them. Still sitting, still--one of them, at least--watching the timber where the elk had disappeared. The other, the older of the two, had got into his pack and appeared to be preparing lunch. If they were armed, it was not obvious. Certainly did not appear to be keeping weapons as handy as he would have done, had he been hunting himself…were, in fact, apparently settling in for a nice long lunch, sandwiches and apples and thermoses of something warm--he could see the steam--emerging from the two packs to join them on the rocks.

Einar looked away. They were behaving inexplicably casually for men who were on the hunt and closing on in deadly human prey, and he couldn’t make much sense of it. Expected the casual behavior was designed to get him off his guard, but could hardly believe a team would behave that way, in light of their mission, unless… His eyes swept the undulating, snow-patched contours of the ridge, searching out the low places that might conceal a man, additional islands of stunted timber in which a sniper team might have secreted itself during the night as they slept, and while he was able to dismiss several such as possibly harboring the enemy, others he was not so sure about. Which complicated things greatly, as it meant he had no way to reliably get out in the open where he could make use of the atlatl, without risking exposing Liz’s hiding place to anyone and everyone who might be watching, and that, he must not do. Not unless he was certain that he’d identified and could reasonably expect to take every one of them…which left him in a rather bad place. Stuck. Pinned down, awaiting the return of the chopper and the inevitable advance of the ground teams.

Fine fix you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Einar. What were you thinking, spending a night up on an exposed section of ridge like this, like you were on a casual camping trip or something…chances are they probably picked up your infrared signature in the night while doing some routine surveillance, satellites or drones or something, no way you could have heard or seen or picked up on the fact that their eyes were on you but you should have known, should have expected, never should have come out here, and now here they are, and you with nowhere to go…

While Einar lay there speculating and attempting to plan, Liz had taken the binoculars and was carefully surveying the pair that remained sitting in the rocks slightly above them. It was the first good look she’d had at the men, and--blinking, shaking her head in disbelief but quite sure of herself, she crept closer to Einar, whispered in his ear.

“Einar! That’s Oscar Bennington! The older of the two. I’m absolutely positive!”

“Who’s Oscar…ah! Antenna Guy? Yeah, I remember him. The one I was just sure was tracking me a couple years ago in a basin a good ways from this one, using that weird antenna rig to follow a transponder they’d somehow got into my clothes or my pack or my body, even…couldn’t figure out how they could have done it but had no doubt at all that was what was going on…until the feds showed up and shot the fellow in the arm!”

“Yes, that’s him. His name’s Oscar Bennington and he was working for the Division of Wildlife at the time, doing some sort of study of elk calving habits, and I guess the guys in that helicopter must have thought he was you, and armed, and that’s why they shot at him. He wasn’t happy about it, went to the press and had his say more than once about how badly he thought the search was being run, so we can be pretty sure he’s no friend of theirs, to this day! No way he would sign on as part of the search.”

Einar blinked slowly, trying to take in what she had just said. “Bennington. Huh. Hopefully he’s still with the DOW, and they’re just up here to take a look at the elk…our elk, the doggone buzzards…but better to be looking at the elk than at us. Doesn’t mean we’re out of danger, though. They get a look at us, get any hint that they’re not alone up here, and we could be right back in the situation I thought we were in a few minutes ago, feds on the way up here and us with no good way out. Hopefully they’ll hit the road pretty soon, but until then…”

“Yes, I know. We wait. We’ll be fine, we’ve got plenty to eat, got some water left.”

“Shouldn’t plan on eating too much more until we get more water. Could be in for a long wait if they plan on sticking around for the day, and it won’t do to go getting all dehydrated and coughing and giving ourselves away just because our throats are dry. Only way we’re gonna be getting water right here is if it rains, which it kinda looks like It might in a while here, but I guess we better hope it doesn’t, these trees being our only shelter…”

“Alright, we can wait. Wait to eat, wait to move…if we wait, they will surely go along soon, and we can get down to that draw where we have more cover!”
Wait they did, the helicopter making no return, a fact which brought Einar great relief, until he discovered the reason for its departure. Building and billowing high and black-bottomed behind the ridge just out of their sight, a major afternoon storm system had been gathering, no distant rumble of thunder sounding to herald it’s approach. The first hint Einar and Liz had of the weather change--aside from the disappearance of the chopper--was in the curls of breeze that blew sharp and restless over the yellowing grass of the ridge, singing in the timber and bringing with them a few scattered splashes of rain, herald of what was to come. Not far from them on the ridge, the two men could be seen hastily setting up a tent, but they did not, much to Einar’s disappointment, seem the least interested In hunkering down for the day just yet, donning crisp, wind-crinkling green-black rain gear and going out to scout once more for elk, one above their position on the ridge and the other--Oscar, Einar was pretty sure, though they didn’t look terribly different from one another in their rain gear--meandering along below them, in full view of the route they’d so carefully crawled that morning, hugging the low wall of rock after discovering that they were not alone. Looks like we’re not going anywhere at all, for the moment…

***************************

Hunkered down beneath the scanty cover of the low--growing timber as the storm continued to scour the ridge around them, Einar and Liz watched as the rain-grey of the valley far below turned to white, adjacent ridge disappearing behind a rapidly advancing curtain of what looked almost like snow, and though it was certainly feeling almost cold enough to snow, Einar knew better, had some inkling of what they were in for and got the deer hide pulled up over his head, sheep hide protecting Liz’s, would have said something to her but already the wind was keening so through the branches that his words would have been lost, and then it was upon them. Sweeping up from the valley, swallowing ridge after timbered ridge as it came, the wall of white descended upon them; they could hear it coming, hail rattling in the rocks and across the tundra grass, bouncing off the sandstone just outside their shelter and very soon finding its way through the gnarly fir boughs that sheltered them, stinging backs and legs even through their clothing, and Liz found herself very grateful that Einar had insisted on pulling that sheep hide up over her head. For what seemed a very long time the hailstorm continued, punctuated by lightening so close that it left them wondering whether they ought perhaps to have made a run for the draw despite not being alone there on the ridge, but it was too late by then to do anything about it, probably a good thing, as they would very likely have been seen had they made that dash.

As the storm went on, increasing in fury, not even the overhanging tangle of timber was enough to keep the hail--rather large stuff, for that elevation--from pounding them, and they huddled with faces bowed to the ground, waiting for it to end. Which it did, eventually, the wall of white that had swept up at them from the valley moving on over the ridge and bringing behind it a hard, driving rain that pelted the yellow grass and turned little patches of remaining snow to slush, sending rivulets of melting snow and melting hail and fresh rainwater beneath Einar and Liz’s little shelter to soak the portions of their clothing that they had managed to keep dry during the hailstorm. Thirsty and having used up the last of their water hours previously, the two of them cupped hands and collected the water, gratefully swallowing the icy, lichen-tasting stuff until they were shivering at its chill within them, after which Liz fumbled in her pack until she found some of the remaining pemmican squares, nibbling one herself and pressing another upon Einar until he did the same, knowing how badly they were to need the energy if they were to stay reasonably warm that afternoon.

Rain continuing in a steady downpour with the leaving of the hail, Liz squinted out between fir branches, just barely able to make out the low bulk of the tent not far up the ridge from them. The wildlife men must be, she had little doubt, snugly ensconced in their roomy and waterproof cocoon by that time, probably beginning to think about some supper, and the thought gave her hope that they might soon be free to leave their own soggy refuge there in the timber, head for lower ground where they, too, could begin to dry and warm themselves once again. Even if it meant walking in the rain, movement, she was sure, would help. Just about anything would be better than lying immobile in their icy, squishy clothes in a puddle of melted hail, and she glanced over at Einar, hoping he might be having similar thoughts. No such luck. Einar appeared thoroughly resigned to their situation, chin resting on a folded arm and eyes half open as he studied the ridge around the tent, apparently oblivious to his own discomfort and looking ready and willing--content, even; safety in sight, escape route plain with the fading of the day--to wait there all night, if he had to. Which wouldn’t do, not at all. You may never wake up, if you try a thing like that.

“Surely they’re in the tent by now, don’t you think…?”

Took a while for Einar to pull himself out of the waiting, find some words and figure out how to assemble them. “I…would be! In tent, I mean. But no way to know for sure, and as quick as that storm came on…seems just about as likely that one of them might have ended up hunkered down in the taller timber over there where the elk were this morning, might not have had time to make it back to the tent.”

“We have to wait, then?”

“Afraid so. I know it’s awful cramped and cold and wet in here, but we’ll be alright. Head down the hill as soon as it’s dark…can’t be many hours until dark, I don’t think…get down in the draw where there’s lots of timber, then find a good sheltered spot to have a little fire, get ourselves warmed up some. Just a few more hours. We can wait.”

Which Liz knew made sense, and, though distinctly chilly and uncomfortable in her wet clothes, she knew she could indeed wait, and would, but worried for Einar if they ended up stuck right where they were until dark, soaking wet and all but immobile. Already his face was showing an unmistakable shade of purple-blue about the lips and nose, and she could see that he was having to work hard not to shiver as he spoke. He needed to move, get some blood flowing, but it would just have to wait, and she pressed another lump of pemmican into his hand.

“Eat. It’ll help you stay warm.”

Two more hours of waiting, then, as the rain tapered off to a steady, soaking drizzle and Liz warmed herself by swinging arms and pressing hands together, using their opposing force to generate warmth. Einar--between times of intent watching during which he scanned the entire ridge, checking the tent and ended by staring into the timber at the ridge’s edge--tried the same thing but with limited success, injured ribs making any such exercise intensely painful and terribly tiring, and Liz, seeing his struggle, attempted to work her way in closer to him so they might be able to share warmth together, but the tangle of branches made it all but impossible and they continued their solitary waiting. Sometime well before dark in the dim, rain-heavy evening they began noticing light in the tent, its side glowing a soft blue as someone hung a flashlight or headlamp from a string near its top, and watching the light, Einar was able to make out two forms inside, two shadows, and he knew they could now with reasonable safety leave their hiding place, take off for the draw, and better shelter. Liz had, over the past while, curled up into something of a warmth-conserving ball, head and shoulders beneath the doubled-over sheep hide for warmth, and he grabbed her shoulder.

“Let’s go. Both in the tent. Never see us if we stick to this side of the rocks, head straight down.”

Scrambling, running, striving at the same time not to slip in the rain-softened soil and leave marks that would be obvious later, Einar and Liz made for the safety of the timbered draw some three hundred feet below their shelter, Einar having a terrible time at first keeping to his feet, but the movement warmed him a bit, and after the first hundred feet of descent he was doing better, falling less and finding himself able to keep up with Liz and even take the lead at times. There it was, the timber, and together they tumbled into that first stand of mixed firs and spruces, clinging to one another and gasping for breath. Einar was hurting, right foot--the toeless one--aching where he had slammed it into an uplift of sandstone and side a mass of searing fire where he had been forced to ignore the ribs and run for all he was worth, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary out on the open expanse of that ridge, but when he looked up at Liz he was grinning, rainwater dripping from his hair and eyes glowing with a fierce conglomeration of agony and pure, unbounded joy.

“Made it.”

It was all he had the energy to say, but no more was needed, and Liz squeezed his hand, helped him up and started down through the timber. Before long they found themselves on a rough elk trail, its zigzagging contours giving them something to follow, some hope of keeping their footing and they negotiated the steepness of the slope, but after a time, light fading and the rain having returned with full fury, they lost it amongst a tangle of wind-felled timber, and were once more on their own.

The wind would not stop. Sweeping down with incredible force from the cirque and the ridge above, it blasted them as they struggled through the nightmare tangle of downed spruces and aspens and tried to find purchase on the steep, slick-muddy base of saturated soil that lurked just below its thin covering of needles to leave their footing treacherous at best, falls not uncommon as the light faded and they traveled more by feel than by sight. They were both cold, rain soaked, mud-plastered and battered by that terrible wind, but were managing reasonably well, generating heat through the constant movement that they knew they must keep up until they reached some sort of shelter, safety, a place where they could hole up for the night and have a fire--wouldn’t be any good trying to make it through this night without a fire, and they ought to be able to have one if they put enough distance between themselves and that ridge--and the thought of the fire kept Liz going, moving almost excitedly towards that goal. She didn’t even realize at first when she pulled ahead of Einar, stopping, finally, to wait for him when she realized that he was no longer by her side and starting back up the trail when after a good minute or two of waiting--too cold; she was way too cold to stand still, resorted to jumping up and down and running in place to keep the blood moving as she waited--she had seen no sign of him.

[FOTH]

Einar was moving as quickly as he could, trying his hardest, as he saw Liz disappearing into the timber ahead of him, to increase his pace, not wanting to lose her, but it felt as if he was swimming through thick mud, half frozen mud, it must have been, and his body just wouldn’t move any faster. He knew he was in trouble when finally he got to the point where he couldn’t lift his leg up high enough to get it over one of the fallen aspens that blocked his path, couldn’t really even seem to feel his legs, come to think of it, battered foot having gone numb and quit hurting some time back, and he shook his head, grabbed the leg just above the knee with stiff, purple-cold hands and lifted it over the tree, hauled the rest of him after it. Next tree was no better, and so began an exhausting series of movements that left Einar relying nearly as heavily on his arms as his legs to carry himself forward, having to lift the numbed, insensible bulk of his lower limbs up and over everything that presented more than a few inches’ obstacle, swaying and tottering and rather unsure of his legs’ ability to go on supporting him between times, and he would have laughed at himself, had he not been so certain that he was probably about to die. Knew he’d got to find a way to increase his pace if he was to have any hope of beginning to reverse the iron grip the cold appeared to have gained on him, but the trouble was that every attempt to do so seemed to leave him face down in the cold, slick mud, blinking slowly at his own hands where they lay stretched out before him in the failing light and wondering how he’d got there. After which began the terribly difficult and painful process of picking himself up again, and after the third or fourth such fall--who was keeping count?--he quite gave up on the idea of moving faster, putting all his energy into keeping up the slow grind over what seemed like acre after acre of steep, slick fallen timber and mud and rock.

Some time later, storm having unleashed a new deluge of wind-driven rain and darkness almost complete, Einar thought he heard something, a sound that resembled the crashing and crunching of a large animal through the timber and he stopped, tried to ready a dart but couldn’t get his fingers to close around the thing, and then he heard the voice, Liz’s voice, and it was one of the most welcome sounds that had ever reached his ears. His response was little more than a croak that he knew the wind would have carried away as soon as it had left his lips so he grabbed a nearby aspen branch, pinching the thing between his palms and slamming it into the barkless trunk of the long-fallen spruce he’d been struggling to get himself across, and she heard, came, took him in her arms and helped him across the tree.

“I’ve been looking for you…”

“Little…slow. Sorry.”

“We need a fire. How about we stop and make a fire right here, under some of those trees over there? They’re big enough to keep most of the rain off…”

“Too close…ridge. If…if they see us…”

“You think we’re still too close? It seems like we’ve come a long way, but it’s hard to tell with the weather and the dark, and I guess the way the smell of smoke carries…” He nodded, and they went on, Einar wanting desperately to stop as Liz had suggested, feeling himself dangerously near the limits of his endurance and wanting nothing more than he wanted to lie down right where he was and not move for a very long time, but they couldn’t stop, not until they could have a fire--wasn’t too attached to the idea of the fire, himself; he was way beyond feeling the cold and didn’t much care either way, but knew Liz and the baby would be needing one, intended to see that they had it--and they couldn’t have a fire until they were a good bit lower, further from the two men in their tent on the ridge who would smell their smoke and possibly even see a faint trace of their fire-glow if they happened to look in the right direction, so he kept himself going, one foot in front of the other, following Liz.

While the fallen timber seemed to thin out slightly after that and make the going a bit easier, the slope steepened at the same time, open, muddy areas becoming more common and, once more following the elk trail they had earlier lost--thing was flowing in places with water, not the best route, perhaps, but at least it seemed to be allowing them to skirt around the bulk of the quagmire of tangled, wind-felled timber that had been their bane on the first half of the descent--and the thing was slick, Einar clinging to his spear for support and doing his best to keep up with Liz as she moved with seeming ease down the side of the trail, but it wasn’t enough and he slipped, went down hard and slid a good distance, grating over a band of protruding rock and coming up short in a tangle of currant bushes, bruised, hip sore and aching but otherwise seemingly uninjured, not that he would have been able to tell for sure, numb as he had become… Back on your feet, Einar. Would be way too easy to go on lying here, and you know you’d just be putting Liz in greater danger by doing that…

Standing still for a moment assessing his injuries--not too bad, really, aside from the ribs, which never benefited from sudden movement, let alone falls and tumbles in the rocky mud--Einar found that his body was soon shaking convulsively as it tried to warm itself in the absence of movement, the shivering so forceful that it made his steps somewhat unsteady, more unsteady than they had already been, and it must have been working to some extent because he was still awake and capable of movement, such as it was, but he was getting awfully tired, and he knew if he fell again then, hurt an ankle or twisted a leg in some way on that steep section of hillside, he’d be terribly hard-pressed to get himself up out of the cold, flowing mud of the path and go on. Hoped at that point Liz would have the sense to leave him, hurry on down to shelter and warm herself rather than wasting her time and strength and risking injury trying to get him back to his feet and down that impossibly long, steep descent, but he knew she’d never go for that, and the knowledge kept him on his feet, moving as carefully as he could if not as quickly as he might have wished.

Several hundred feet lower in elevation down the draw and nearly a mile from the ridgline Einar finally became convinced they could safely have a fire, struggling to catch up to Liz and tell her. The they chose a spot shortly thereafter, a patch of ground beneath the much larger timber of the draw, not an ideal spot, being still somewhat open and windy, but it would have to do, for they weren’t either one of them interested in going too much farther without a rest and the chance to warm up and dry their clothes, some. Not if it could be helped. Liz was weary, chilled and ready to be off her feet, but for Einar, she could tell that the situation was a good bit more dire. He needed some warmth, and in a hurry. Shedding her pack and helping Einar out of his, Liz felt around beneath the timber until she found a relatively dry spot, shoving aside the damp needles with her foot and taking the handful of small dead spruce twigs Einar had somehow managed to round up, breaking them, propping them on a rock and placing beneath them a precious bundle of milkweed down for tinder. Working by feel and having to use his teeth to do a task for which his hands proved quite unequal he pulled a few chunks of pitch-infused bark from one of the nearby spruces, bringing them to Liz so she could incorporate them into the fire. Those bits of pitch ended up being the only thing that guaranteed them a fire that night, wood damp from the blowing rain, air damp and both of them far too cold to be particularly dexterous when it came to arranging and lighting the fire. The pitch gave them more leeway, held the flame and burned hot and crackling until the slight dampness could be driven from their kindling, fire well established by the time it all burnt away.

Liz couldn’t find Einar. She had been so focused on the fire, giving it air and making sure it stayed alive that she’d failed to notice his absence, and when she called for him there was, much to her alarm, no answer. She found him several minutes later just outside the circle of firelight, hands full of dry dead branches, elbow pressed hard against his injured ribs and eyes blank as he stared into the flames, having apparently gone in search of more firewood and then forgotten what he had intended to do with it. She led him over to the fire, got him out of his drenched clothes and set a pot of water to heat, sitting close beside him as steam began to rise from the pot. Everything was wet, clothes, boots, the hides that had shielded them from the worst of the hail, and Liz did her best to spread the wet things out on branches and rocks near the fire to begin drying, Einar trying to help her but stopping at her insistence after he dropped one of her socks into the flames while trying to hang it above them. The sock was rescued in time, but Einar did see the wisdom of allowing Liz to do the rest of the clothes hanging, at least until he regained a bit of flexibility in his hands, which, holding them over the heat of the flames, he was working hard to do, watching Liz as she spread out the deer and sheep hides for drying.

“It’s a good thing we smoked these hides when we did, isn’t it? Or they’d just dry stiff and useless, and they’re the only blankets we’re going to have tonight…”

“Yeah. Real good. Better be…focusing on…just drying one of them, because we’ll never…get both done before daylight, and if we want any sleep tonight…”

“Yes. I’ll work on the deer hide, try to get it dry, but as cold as we both are…what do you think about letting the fire burn for a while, scraping it aside and sleeping on the warmed ground for tonight?”

Einar nodded, bowed his head and pressed his ribs until an especially violent fit of shivering passed--good news it was, meant he was beginning to warm but the movement hurt his ribs, crushed the breath out of him--and looked up at her. “For tonight, very good idea. Clothes won’t be…much use and it’s…gonna be a cold one I think. Need to heat rocks, too. Lots of rocks, pile them around us when we sleep. We’ll be fine. Gonna be a fine night.”

*********************************

After a shared supper of hot pemmican stew, drunk hastily from the pot after much breathing of its warm, wonderful-smelling steam Einar and Liz began their preparations for bed, checking drying clothes and finding them still quite damp despite their time hanging above the fire. The deer hide, though, which had been Liz’s focus, was well on its way to being dry, only the edges still damp in places and they took turns working on it, draping this side and then the other lower over its branch so everything could benefit from the fire’s heat. While he thought it a good idea indeed to sleep atop the little spot of warmed ground left by the fire--they were going to need every advantage they could get that night, and between the warmed ground and the eight chunks of granite which Liz had rounded up and set to heat in the fire, perhaps they might even have a chance of catching a bit of sleep--Einar was not yet ready to let the fire go out, wanted its light by which to complete their sleep preparations, and he carefully scraped it a little home in the soil not far from its current location, finding and preparing a number of fresh little twigs and carefully transferring one burning stick after another until they had two fires going, upon which he used a large, flat granite chip to scrape aside fire and coals from the first location, leaving only the bare, heat-radiating ground on which they would be spending the night. After moving the fire he gingerly rolled the eight hot granite chunks after it, nestling them around the new blaze to go on heating against the time when they would serve as bed-heaters. Liz, meanwhile, had been cutting big, soft fir boughs for their bed, knowing that to spend a night on the bare ground, even if part of it had been heated by the fire, was asking to wake up half frozen and perhaps in serious trouble. Which they were probably going to do anyway--the bit about being half frozen, at least--going into the night badly chilled as they were and with only the benefit of a single deer hide to cover the two of them, so it seemed the least she could do was to keep them from direct contact with the ground.

Returning from her bed-bough gathering, Liz was very happy to see a fire still burning, huddled over it for a time warming herself before venturing out once more to make the bed. It truly was growing cold out there, and the long wet wait on the ridge followed by that slow, rainy descent had really chilled her to the core, and being without clothing on a wet, windy night in the dark and dripping timber was not her idea of fun, even if one did have a fire to return to. She couldn’t imagine how Einar was managing as well as he appeared to be--still visibly cold but definitely alert and busy doing his part to prepare the camp--as badly as the whole thing had affected him, but knew his thoughts on such matters probably differed significantly from her own, as their present situation was just the sort he seemed deliberately to seek out for himself from time to time, though to look at him--face all hard lines and sharp angles as he struggled to breathe through the hurt of his damaged ribs--he certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying it anymore than she, at the moment. Had it not been for the ribs, she had little doubt but that he’d be finding the entire evening only slightly short of delightful, and she shook her head, smiled in his direction. Goofy guy. Now why don’t you come on to bed, before the ground starts getting cold under it …

The boughs of Liz’s fir-branch bed dug into Einar some, poking him here and there though the soft needles did a good bit to cushion them, but he was far too tired to care, and before long both of them were fast asleep beneath their single hide, hot rocks piled around them and the ground beneath radiating heat, huddled together as the rain went on outside the shelter of their trees and occasionally, carried on an especially strong gust of wind, found its way beneath them, too. Liz managed to sleep reasonably comfortably but Einar, having been far more thoroughly chilled than she and still feeling terribly hungry despite the pemmican stew, shivered through most of the night and woke cold and stiff to the grey light of a very clear early morning, clouds having moved out sometime in the night. Body aching with chill and he himself beginning to feel an urgent need to take a look at where they had ended up for the night, how far they’d got from the ridge, he gently disentangled himself from Liz’s embrace and crept out from beneath the single hide that had served as their blanket for the night, shivering in the crisp morning air and tucking already-numbed hands beneath his arms as he limped bare-footed over to the edge of their spruce grove, peering out through the cloud of his breath at the small meadow that lay just beyond the edge of the timber.

They had made a good bit of distance that previous evening. Far above the ridge loomed red and shadowy in the dawn light, the dark folds of timber separating them from its heights representing the steep, slippery terrain they had struggled through after dark the night before. Einar let out a big white-billowing breath of relief, settled into a warmth-conserving crouch there at the edge of the clearing and rubbed purple-cold shoulders, studying a layer of frost that lay white and prickly on the meadow grass and on the great, half-rotted trunk of an ancient spruce that had fallen sometime in the dim and distant past, and was actively involved in returning to the soil of the meadow. Cold night, and he could just make out the faintest trace of snow up on the higher reaches of the ridge; the rain had, apparently, turned sometime in the dark hours.

Getting creakily to his feet Einar hurried back over to camp, dug with shaking hands into the ashes of that past night’s fire, finding some warmth a few inches down, and below that, living orange coals. Shivering, he lay down and curled himself around the tiny firepit, hoping largely in vain to be able to absorb some of the heat radiating out of it. Oh, how he wanted a fire, but knew they must not risk one now that daylight had returned and the storm moved on. The men would be stirring from their tent up on the ridge and there seemed a good chance the helicopter might be back, also, to finish work cut short by the previous day’s storm, so he did the next best thing, and crawled back in beside Liz. She all but yelped at the chill of his body against her, wanted for a brief moment of confusion to shove him away and roll herself up snugly in the hide but instead wrapped herself around him as well as the baby would allow, lay there shivering with him and doing her best to rub some of the ice from his bones-- you’d have a lot less ice in your bones in the first place, I’ve got to say, if there was more than skin covering them; it doesn’t make for very good insulation --as the morning light strengthened, sun beginning to show itself far up above them on the sharply fractured red sandstone heights of the ridge.

Liz had been dozing again but was brought back to full awareness when Einar shifted position in the bed, attempting to escape a branch that was pressing into his hip. “The sun’s up, isn’t it?”

“Close. Just hit the ridge. Be down here in a while.”

“Did you get any sleep? I’m afraid you were probably freezing all night, once the rocks started to cool off…”

“No problem. I’m pretty good at…freezing and sleeping all at the same time. You?”

“It was a good night, just like you said it would be. So very much better--and drier!--than the afternoon was. I slept. It’s getting pretty cold just lying here, though. How about we go out and sit in the sun when it gets here, and have some breakfast?”

Einar nodded, stomach cramping up at the thought and the cold seeming to strengthen its grip on him with the reminder of his hunger until he pressed himself down into the fir bough mattress in search of a bit of warmth, but it wasn’t working well at all. “We need to be…moving on pretty soon here. Chopper may come back, and we don’t want to be around for that. Still hoping to get an elk…”

“I hope so too! We were so close up there on the ridge. Maybe we’ll find another herd in one of the little meadows--like this one--between here and the cabin. It would be a shame to have come all this way and not bring something back, but I’m just glad to be out of the rain and hail, and out of sight of those guys! Everything else is extra.”

“Shame to not bring something back, yeah…but that’s…you know, when you’re living the life of a predator-critter, that’s just the reality sometimes. Not every hunt is successful.”

“No, but when one is, the critters eat all they can hold so they’ll be all stocked up and have something to live off of until the next kill, and if we get an elk today, I expect you to do that, Ok?”

Einar gave her a reluctant smile, looked away, sure she must be able to see the hunger in his eyes, must be responding to it. “So if I’m hearing you right, you’re saying I don’t have the brains of a mangy old coyote. Is that it?”

“ Well now I never said anything of the sort! Except that yes, come to think of it I guess it could have been taken that way, but that’s not exactly how I meant it. You use your brain too much[I/] sometimes, I think. I’m saying that when we get this elk, you need to be like the mangy old coyote and just tear into it! Eat your fill, curl up and sleep and then have some more. That’s how the coyote would do it.”

“Right. Imitate the coyote. I’ll keep that in mind. Just wait ’till you hear me howl!”

Which got him a playful whack in the side of the head from Liz--you big goof, I don’t want to hear you howl, I just want to see you eat --and with that the two of them were out of the bed, Liz close on Einar’s heels as he ran shivering for the little patch of sunlight that had finally found its way up over the ridge to fall golden and inviting across the meadow and into their stand of timber. Huddling together in the sun against one of the spruce trunks at the meadow’s edge with the hide wrapped around them for warmth, they watched the frost turn to steam and rise gently from grass and fallen tree and rock under the gentle ministrations of the strengthening sun, nibbling at a breakfast of pemmican, cold and somewhat soggy, but tremendously appreciated. Beginning themselves to warm slightly in the sunlight, neither of them were particularly anxious to end their breakfast and go on with the day, as they knew it meant getting back into wet and icy clothes that had hardly had time to begin drying at all over the fire that past night, but finally Einar rose, stretched and started for the tree where the garments awaited them. They had an elk to take, and had better get started.

*************************************

Once back in their wet clothes, both Einar and Liz found themselves highly motivated to be on the move, stomping and stamping about camp as they gathered their belongings, Liz swinging her arms for warmth and Einar, prevented by the ribs from doing any more moving of his upper body than was absolutely necessary, simply standing there and shivering violently.  Much as the involuntary movement hurt he would have stopped even that, had it been possible, but, fortunately for his core temperature and general continued existence, it was not.  Finally they had everything picked up, wet hide and dry rolled and put into packs--hating to see Einar suffer in the cold, Liz had wanted him to wear the dry one about his shoulders as a cloak as they climbed, but he had refused, being, aside from a standard level of stubbornness that would have resisted the idea anyway, (it's good for me to freeze, helps prepare me for winter) concerned that the still wet and dripping timber might leave their one dry hide damp, should they not keep it tucked away and protected.  A potential disaster for them, if circumstances should both keep them out for another night and prevent their having a fire.

Making one final circuit of the camp with the knowledge that it would, in their condition, be all too easy to leave something behind, Einar did his best to obscure the firepit, widely scattering the fir boughs that had served as their bed, lest someone happen along and realize that the place had been recently occupied.  Work done and double-checked, they took their leave of the hasty camp, striking out on a zigzagging course up the timbered slope opposite it--and opposite the red ridge--both of them badly needing some hard climbing to get the blood flowing and begin drying away the wet, clinging misery of their still-soaked garments.  

Einar hoped still to find an elk, meant to find one, and very much hoped they might do so that morning.  Knew they'd have to be very careful if they did come on a herd or even a single animal, with Oscar Bennington and his crew in the area and possibly in the air again, too, presumably counting the critters.  Would have to haul the animal in under the dark timber to butcher it, listen carefully for the approach of that chopper, but he was confident in their ability to safely do it, and to that end paused at the ridge's summit, seeking the sort of meadow that elk tended to congregate in and around at times.  Couldn't see anything--almost literally--as he could not get his eyes to focus, supposed it might be due largely to the way his heart was pounding after that climb, dizziness almost taking his feet from under him as he struggled to get a useful amount of oxygen past the dreadful, squeezing barrier of his ribs.  Doggone ribs, sure would like to be rid of that hassle, but it's not going to be happening quickly, may not happen at all, feels like, not if I keep on running around like this and climbing things and lifting others, which he knew was highly unlikely, they'd heal eventually, would have to...if he lived that long.  Which you've got to do, because the baby's coming, and really, the ribs should be mostly healed by the time he gets here…

That cheerful bit of musing out of the way and seeing that Liz was beginning to look at him strangely, as if she wanted to ask him if he was doing alright but had thought better of it, Einar hauled himself up out of the pained crouch into which he had settled, took a serious look at the land that lay before them.  Through the black closeness of the timber he could catch glimpses of the open slopes below them, spots, perhaps, where they might come across an elk.  Liz put a hand on his shoulder, startling him.  Guessed he hadn't managed to catch up on oxygen quite as thoroughly as he'd thought, for he had not even noticed her closing the distance between them, and it disturbed him some, but he was working too hard just to keep breathing to give the problem much notice. "Einar, what about Muninn?  He disappeared when the helicopter first came close, and I haven't seen any sign of him since..."

"Yeah, disappeared right after warning me not to step out in the open where I would have been seen by those fellas...would have been in a lot of trouble if he hadn't made a fuss of circling over their heads right when he did, and given me pause while I was still hidden behind the rocks.  Been wondering about him too, but don't know where he's gone off to.  Maybe he's through with us, decided we're not especially good company and gone back to his regular old raven life.  Wouldn't blame him, the way we seem to have a habit lately of taking up on high ridges and waiting for hailstorms to come in." 

"He likes you, is drawn to you for some reason.  I think he'll be back."

"Ha!  Can't imagine why.  But could be.  May see him again.  That'd be alright with me.  Had kinda got used to the critter." 

"'Got used to the critter?'  Is that how it is with me, too?  You've 'got used to' me?" 

Einar didn't really understand the question, sensed some meaning other than the obvious hidden there behind it and in order to avoid falling into whatever trap might lie hidden there simply narrowed his eyes at her, shrugged and went back to studying their route. "Figure we'd better swing wide through that little series of meadows and open slopes on the way down, here, on the chance we might surprise an elk or two.  Don't want this trip to have been wasted effort..." 

Liz nodded, eyes dark as she thought of what it had already cost him, their so-far failed hunting trip, doubted things would really even themselves out, even if they did end up finding and taking en elk, but if we hadn't managed to get stuck on that tree island together in the storm, who knows how long it might have been until we got around to having the conversation we had up there--never, maybe--and meanwhile he would have just gone on starving himself and not telling me why or letting me help him as the nights got colder and colder and he finally ended up wandering off into one of them and dying...don't know for sure that our conversation, by itself, is going to prevent that, because he's an awfully stubborn and determined man when he gets his mind set on something...which I think it is, or was, on this, even if he isn't willing to admit that, but at least now that we've talked about it, I have someplace to start from, have his "permission" to talk further about it... 

"No, not wasted effort.  We have the elk hide, once we retrieve it, and we may or may not find an elk, but we'll get something out of the trip, for sure."

 "Yep.  Couple of rabbits maybe, a grouse if we're real fortunate...though I'm still pretty set on that elk!"  

"Well, let's go find her.  I see trails down there in that first clearing on the left, and they sure look like they could be elk paths..." 

Squinting down at the nearest smear of green, Einar could see nothing of the sort.  "Your eyes may be a bit better than mine at the moment, it seems.  I don't see any trails.  Show me." 

More than ready to be moving again herself and seeing that Einar, too, was growing badly chilled again now that he'd cooled down from the climb she quickly fished the binoculars out of her pack and handed them to him.  "There.  You can see it crossing the grassy area near its top, going across at an angle.  See?"

"Yeah, I see."  His voice had dropped to a whisper.  "See something else, too.  Way over on the far edge of the clearing, over by that big pile of whitish granite.  Those rocks aren't all rocks.  Have a look." Thinking Einar might have caught sight of an elk, and not merely sign of them down in the clearing Liz excitedly took the field glasses, quite surprised at the sight that met her there... 

*****************************

The three goats, winter-heavy coats gleaming white and unmistakable in the sunlight, stood in a pocket of still air there beside a heap of tumbled-down granite boulders, munching contentedly on the last of the good green tundra grass of the fall and filling themselves up on the dried, yellowing variety when that ran out. Liz lowered herself instinctively to the ground in one smooth motion that somewhat amazed Einar, considering the increasing awkwardness of carrying the baby, not wanting the creatures to see her, pulling Einar along with her.

“Goats! I knew they were around, but didn’t expect to see any down this low in the timber.”

“Bit of an unusual sight, for sure, but a real good one for us. Better than an elk, in a lot of ways.”

“Oh! I know we can eat the meat and use the hide for warmth…but I wonder if there’s any chance we might snare one, take it back over to the cabin and work at domesticating it, teach it to be a pack goat and eventually start our own herd for milk, meat, fur…”

Grinning from ear to ear at the image of himself dashing at full speed down that slope, lasso of nettle cordage whirling round his head as he charged in amongst the goats and snared one about the neck, snubbing the rope around an aspen and hanging on for dear life, Einar shook his head. The thing would probably drag him to death up the nearest cliff. Which would be a pretty interesting way to go, really, being dragged to death up a cliff. Plenty of people have suffered sudden deceleration after unfortunate encounters with cliffs, but I doubt too many have been beaten to death on rocks on the way up them…which wasn’t particularly relevant, seeing as the goal that day was to get ahold of some meat and a hide or two, not to perish in the most unique and unexpected way possible, and he fought to halt the silent fit of mirth that had come over him at the images he’d created in his head. The laughing hurt his ribs, even if it was silent. Liz was staring at him, and he guessed she wanted an answer of some sort. “Some animals just aren’t made to be domesticated, Einar-critters and mountain goats probably included, but even if it would work, we’re in no position to acquiring livestock right now! We’d probably never keep the critter alive through the winter, even if we could somehow prevent it absconding with itself and rejoining the herd.”

“I know I’ve seen them grazing in the summer, but what do they eat in the winter? The snow must get way too deep up here for them to forage for grass…”

“Don’t eat much. They spend a lot of time in the timber down a little lower, but not a whole lot lower than these critters are right now--some of them stay right up near treeline, all winter long--and best as I’ve ever been able to tell from looking at their droppings and following them around for a while, they mostly chew on the evergreens and strip them of lichens and moss and such. It’s a pretty sparse diet, and they end up losing a lot of weight over the winter, as much as fifty pounds sometimes for a good-sized goat, but they always make it up pretty fast in the spring once things start greening up again. That’s sometimes kinda the way I did it, too, up at my cabin. Nibble on things through the winter, then make it up in the spring…yep, me and the goats.”

“If you eat nothing but lichen and evergreens and lose fifty pounds over the winter, you’ll be a skeleton. You’ll be dead.”

“Nah, not dead, just mighty doggone ugly. Doesn’t take much to keep me going.”

She rolled her eyes at him, shook her head. You’d try it just to prove me wrong, wouldn’t you, if the baby wasn’t coming? Just to prove you could make it through the winter by chewing lichen and evergreen needles, and you’d probably somehow manage to do it, too, but there sure wouldn’t be much left of you by the time spring came. “Well, you don’t have a coat like they do to keep you warm. I’m sure that incredible coat has a lot to do with their ability to survive hungry winters at treeline as well as they do. And you don’t have one, and I’m pretty sure you can’t grow one, either, as hard as you might try.”

“I’m about to have one…” At which he handed her the binoculars and fitted a dart to the atlatl, motioning for her to follow as he descended towards the grassy opening, keeping carefully to the heaviest of the timber and moving quietly over its carpet of damp, cushioning needles. Some three hundred yards above the steep, grassy area at the top of the open the slope he stopped, waited for her to catch up and spoke in a whisper.

“Gonna work my way in closer, try to get down to where the trees thin out before doing anything. You be ready with the bow, back me up when I let the dart go. I’m after the big one, the male, but if he moves on before we get there or is at a bad angle, I’ll go for the nearest of the females. Aim just behind the shoulder, like on an elk. Thick as his coat of fur is now with winter coming, it’s gonna take a lot of force to go through it and do the job, but hopefully between us we’ll get in at least one real good shot, take him down. You ready?” She nodded, pulled an arrow from her pack and very slowly they continued their descent, approaching the group of three lazing, grazing animals with the wind in their faces, making hardly a sound on the soft, springy duff of the forest floor. Blocked from sight of the goats by several large granite boulders they managed to work their way in quite close without the animals becoming aware of their presence, and Einar was about to lead them on the final few moves that would bring them into their shooting positions when a growing tension in the pit of his stomach told him wait, listen, and sure enough, the next second he could hear it. The chopper was returning. He wanted to bolt for the timber, wanted it so badly he could taste it, but made himself wait, flattened himself against the backside of those boulders and pulled Liz in beside him, the two of them partially concealed by the overhanging shadow of the rock, a few sparse currant bushes their only other cover, Einar praying that it would be enough. Had to be enough.

***************************

Had the chopper crew focused their attention on the little smear of green that represented Einar and Liz’s steep little slope of grass, they might well have seen an arm or foot or an irregular bit of shadow where the pair had not been quite able to pull themselves entirely beneath the overhanging hulk of granite, but as the work of the day involved counting elk, and not mountain goats, they hardly gave the clearing a second glance. Passing not quite directly over them and showing no sign of lingering or doubling back, the chopper buzzed away towards the ridge summit, Einar letting out a great breath as its sound faded a bit and then stabilized over the ridge. Hadn’t been breathing at all during its approach, he now realized, and was beginning to need air pretty badly. Better not let yourself cough though, because there’s some chance those goats didn’t get run off by the chopper, and if they’re still there, we need to take one. Motioning for Liz to follow, he eased around between rocks, flattening himself on his belly as he crept up onto the one he had previously decided would offer him the best vantage of the spot where the goats had been grazing, inching forward with extreme care lest an accidental scuff of a boot or scrape of a hand give away their position to the goats, spook them and send them clattering away up the nearest outcropping, out of reach if not out of sight. The goats hadn’t gone anywhere, appeared not to have been particularly distressed by the low passage of the helicopter, even, far less disturbed than their human counterparts for sure, and it was with a mounting excitement that Einar caught Liz’s eye, nodded to her bow. She was nearly ready, and so was he. One of those goats, should they manage to take it, would be a real prize, and an unexpected one at that. Two would be even better, of course, though they would have to hang one and return for it later, and for a moment he considered creeping back down below the crest of the rock and suggesting Liz go for one of the nannies while he took the male, but the chance that one on them might miss or make a hit inadequate to bring their target down was too great; they needed that hide, and it seemed best to focus all their attention on a single animal.

Einar’s chosen goat was a young billy of three or four years, horns just slightly longer than its ears, and he knew its meat would be good and not yet tough, but it was the hide that had really caught his eye. Full and shining white in preparation for the arrival of the cold weather, the hide was a magnificent thing, its wool, he knew, warmer even than the thick, rich bear hides they had already taken that fall. For a moment, easing his way into position while trying not to look directly at the creatures so as not to spook them--deer, especially, he had observed over the years could “feel” when they were being stared at, and it tended to make them nervous and jumpy--he could picture himself wearing a coat of mountain goat fur as he walked his trapline that winter or stood the cold, lonely night watches above the cabin, warmer than he had any business being and blending perfectly with his snowy surroundings. A good thing, indeed, but one which would only happen if the next thirty seconds or so went without a hitch, and he was glad to see Liz rise in one motion with him from the rock, arrow pulled back, flying as he loosed his dart.

Both projectiles hit their approximate mark, Liz’s arrow penetrating further and doing more damage than the dart, puncturing both lungs and leaving the goat to begin lagging after a quick hundred yard sprint across the remainder of the clearing, and they watched from the rocks as it sat down in the timber, clearly having a difficult time. Not wanting to spook their quarry into running further than it already had and reasonably confident that the job had been done, Einar and Liz lay flat on the granite boulder and listened to the crashing and clattering as the other two goats--nannies, Einar was pretty sure--found some rocks amongst the timber and started up them, sounds fading into the distance. Their goat hadn’t moved, head hanging low as it sat beneath the meager cover of a scrawny spruce, struggling for breath, and Einar could not help a moment’s pity for the magnificent creature in its last minutes of life. Seemed it ought to have been spending them out amongst the rocks, peaks stretching sharp-toothed and snow-brushed to the horizon and its last act, as the end approached, being to take one or two more struggling steps up a near-vertical rise in the rock, slipping, toppling, tumbling, one with the boulders at the bottom, a fitting end. But not an end which would have lent itself well to their recovering the meat and hide, and Einar found himself immensely grateful, as he watched the creature take its last gurgling breaths, beard brushing the ground now, not long to go, that they had come upon the creatures in the wideness of the clearing-slope, where their quarry would be easily recoverable.

Several minutes, and the goat had shown no sign of movement. Studying it through the binoculars, Einar was reasonably certain it had ceased to breathe, lying slumped over with head on the ground and shoulders still somewhat in the air, and he eased down the backside of the rock, took his spear and began a cautious approach, keeping to the timber, as it certainly wouldn’t to do allow himself to be surprised by the helicopter while out in the open. He’d wanted Liz to stay behind lest the goat, in a final fit of energy, should manage to scramble back to its feet and make a move towards them but she had insisted on coming and, as it had been her arrow that had probably done the creature in, and not his dart, Einar couldn’t really see that he had grounds for refusing her, but he did keep her behind him, wanting to make sure the child was at least somewhat protected should the goat prove not to be quite as dead as it appeared. Goat was dead, though, white beard stained pink and frothy with its last breaths and as soon as Einar had made sure he moved aside so Liz could approach, and together they felt the incredibly warm, thick wool of the good sized goat, protected by long white hairs, clean and bright as so much of it had been freshly grown with the approach of the cold season, not having had time to pick up the dull reddish tint and the clumps of matted, tangled lichen and moss that characterized the creatures’ coats on towards shedding time in the late spring and summer. Liz, having never been so close to one of the creatures and having handled only the bits of shed wool Einar had collected and brought her that summer, was amazed.

“It’s so warm!” She whispered, as if still not wanting to frighten the goat. “Better than sheep wool I think, and with so much of it…this is better than an elk, for sure!”

“Yep, good shot. You’re quite a hunter, Lizzie.”

“Oh, your dart had a lot to do with bringing him down, it looks like. If it is a ‘him.’ Don’t think I would have been able to tell from a distance, but you seemed pretty sure this was a billy.”

“It is. See how the horns are close together where they come out of the head--and how wide they are? Well, on the females, they’re a lot narrower, and further apart. This is a young male, few years old, no more, which means the meat ought to be real tasty still.”

“I look forward to tasting it! But this coat is best of all. It’s got to be the warmest thing we own.”

Einar nodded, studying the surrounding timber for the best spot to hang and butcher the creature, wanting them to be safely hidden as they worked, and choosing a stand of spruces not far from where the goat had fallen. The trees, it appeared as he stood beneath them staring up at the sky, ought to sufficiently block the shining white fur of the goat from anything that might happen by in the air, give them some margin of safety as they prepared it for transport. They would not, unfortunately, be able to safely have a fire to cook up and enjoy bits of freshly roasted goat meat during breaks as they worked, not with the elk survey apparently still ongoing, but Einar did not really care. The day was sunny and beginning to grow warm enough to start drying their damp clothes, they had what he considered to be a reasonably safe spot in which to work, and best of all, they’d got their goat.

********************************

Careful to avoid, as much as possibly, bloodying the snowy whiteness of the animal’s coat--it could be cleaned, of course, but much better was to keep it clean in the first place--Einar and Liz bled and cleaned the goat, trapping what they could of the blood in the cook pot and a few hastily cut and bent vessels of white aspen bark, their folds sealed, if poorly, with twisted and pressed cordage of the fibrous, somewhat absorbent inner bark, but a good bit of it they were simply unable to save. Liz sorted through the gut pile as Einar, the goat opened up and cooling, worked to construct the frames that would allow them to pack the meat and hide home to the cabin. It would be heavy work, the goat weighing, according to his estimate, somewhere over two hundred pounds, but he hoped that by careful butchering they might manage to reduce that to somewhere just over one hundred and fifty, including the hide. They would be leaving things behind--bone, mostly, perhaps the lungs and a few other things that he normally would have been intent on keeping and putting to the best use--but as he saw it, they really had little choice.

Needed to be out of the area as soon as possible because of the continued activity in the air, and there were limits to what he could ask Liz or--reasonably; be reasonable, Einar, it’s got to be better than ending up dead beside the trail, --even himself to carry. And they still had the cached elk hide to retrieve on their way back, if they were able. With this in mind he cut as much meat off the bone as possible, working quickly and efficiently to pack and secure it onto the pair of frames he had made, equal loads for the two of them at first and then, knowing how much Liz was already carrying with the baby and not wanting to risk over-working her and sending her into early labor--, she’s shown no sign of being at risk for that, really, but with under two months to go, sure wouldn’t want it to start becoming a problem now, --loading his down a bit more heavily. , And I’ll carry the hide. Fold it to protect the wool and then roll it, secure it around my neck so it hangs down on either side in the front, and it ought to carry pretty well.,

And would, he knew--though wouldn’t have admitted to it being a factor in his wanting to carry the thing--help him get warm, which was something he hadn’t really been able to do at all that morning, despite the hard work of butchering the goat. Felt like there was ice in his bones, cold water running down beneath his skin and even with the constant activity of raising, skinning and chopping up the carcass, it seemed he was always right on the edge of shivering that morning, fighting it, as he had to keep still in order to do a decent job at taking care of the goat, but never really starting to get warm. Every time he stopped for a moment’s rest or reflection before getting back to the project, his hands would start shaking, entire body joining in if he did not get hastily back to his feet and start moving again. Didn’t mind the cold and never had, would have found it somewhat pleasant, even in such an extreme, if his reaction to it hadn’t been interfering so with the speedy execution of the task at hand, but his seeming inability to make any headway at all against the iron grip the cold had gained on him in the night concerned him just a bit, left him wondering how he might expect to fare that winter when the cold set in for good and became a constant. , Guess you’ll either adapt or die, as usual, but it’s gonna be a rough one, looks like., Well. Would have to deal with that when the time came. For the moment he was busy, making good progress on the goat and would wear its hide to warm him on the trip back to the cabin. Pulled from his contemplation by the sound of Liz’s voice he paused, turned in her direction.

“Break time! You ready to stop for a minute and help me eat some of this liver? It’ll never make it back to the cabin, so we might as well eat what we can, now.”

Einar nodded, wiped his hands on his still-wet pants and joined her on the sunny log she’d chosen for their repast. It was good to be out of the cold, breezy shadows of the spruce grove, and he raised purple palms to the sunlight, sitting with eyes half closed as Liz sliced thick, beautiful chunks from the goat’s liver. Looked healthy. Had been a real healthy animal, and that was good, and before he knew what was happening Einar was drifting, dreaming, goats on the rocks, skipping along the ridges and dancing up the sides of impossibly steep cliffs, beautiful sight… The sun was warm, but not warm enough, and very soon he was shaking in the sharp morning breeze, very nearly unable to grasp the aspen-bark plate full of liver slices, by the time Liz got it prepared and brought to him. Shook his head in an attempt to drive away some of the heavy sleepiness that had come over him while waiting, thanked her and gulped down one of the liver slices. Good stuff. Wanted more, but was afraid he’d drop the plate if he let go with one hand to secure himself a piece. Not a problem. He could wait. Liz was enjoying the stuff, and he liked watching her eat. And feed the baby. Liver would be very good for the baby, and for her, help keep her stocked up on iron, keep her blood strong for the delivery and…dozing again, and this time he nearly fell off his seat. Liz grabbed him, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Einar--what’s wrong? Can’t you stay awake? You’re freezing. Here, let’s get you wrapped up in the goat hide, it’s good and warm and dry on the outside…”

He shook his head, eyes wide all of sudden and mind wholly back in the present, if not entirely as clear as he might have liked. “No, no I’m Ok as long as I keep moving. Need to keep moving.” With which he rose and was about to return to work, but Liz caught his arm, pulled him back down beside her, moving closer and rubbing his back for warmth.

“You , need, dry clothes. And about fifty or sixty pounds of extra insulation on your body, so you won’t always be freezing like this. Here, have some more liver. It’ll help.” Which it did, Liz giving him slice after slice as he fought to stay awake and do the chewing, and by the time they had split nearly half the liver between them, Einar was finally finding himself warm and steady enough to sit there in the sun without sinking into a hypothermic doze every time he allowed himself to relax a bit, tremors quieted and his mind starting to work once again. Too close, Einar. A little scary that you can get that close and not even realize what’s happening . She saw, pulled you out of it, but what if she hadn’t been here? You’d have gone right on sitting in those cold shadows and carving at the goat until you toppled over and slept that last sleep, wouldn’t you? And left two carcasses up here for the coyotes to gnaw on… But that’s not what happened, so you’d better get back to work on that goat, get us ready to head out of here while you’ve still got plenty of energy from that liver. Guess it’s not likely to last real long, as far behind as you seem to be on such things.,

Liz, finished sorting the gut pile and packing what they intended to carry with them, joined Einar as he continued carving up the meat for transport, the job going much more quickly with both of them working at it and the remains of the goat soon ready to be carried away. Not a moment too soon for Einar, who was growing increasingly jumpy at the persistent buzz of the little helicopter as it skimmed the little basins and draws just on the other side of the red ridge, presumably taking inventory of the elk population. He wanted very much to put more distance between themselves and that menace, got the goat hide, with Liz’s help, around his neck and tied it at chest height to prevent its coming off, easing his meat-laden pack frame overtop. The setup hurt his ribs, seemed to crush the air out of him but he figured, what doesn’t do that, these days? At least you’re warm now, right? Must be, ’cause feels like your entire left side’s on fire… Hurts something awful but you’re still breathing, and if you can keep that up, chances are you’ll get through this, make it back to the cabin with this prize and then you can rest. Up, now. On your feet. Can’t let her see how rough this is, or she’ll be wanting to carry more of it herself, and that might not be good for the baby, … With which thought he was on his feet, leaning heavily on his spear and working hard to regulate his breathing to ensure he got enough oxygen to go on standing, nearly knocked off his feet when soft and silent though the spruces, Muninn the raven came swooping to perch heavily on his shoulder. Einar glanced up at the bird, nodded.

“Been wondering where you were, you old scoundrel.”

[FOTH]

Liz, who truly had not expected to see the raven again, was delighted at his return. Their little family had somehow not seemed quite complete without him, and she guessed Einar must not be the only one who had “got used to” the presence of the clumsy, over-sized creature; she could not help but laugh at the sight of Einar, heavily laden with his pack board of goat meat, spear in hand and the gleaming white ruff that was the rolled-up goat hide draped around his neck and hanging down almost to the ground in the front--his own beard, not nearly as white as the goat’s hide, but approaching it in a few places, seeming quiet appropriate to the scene--standing there with great awkward bulk of the raven looking so very much at home perched on his shoulder. The entire picture somehow looked so ancient and timeless and strange that she knew she should have been quite alarmed to stumble upon any such thing while out roaming the hills--would have almost thought herself transported back into some ancient Norse narrative, Odin and the Ravens, perhaps, only in this case there was only one raven, and Einar, fortunately, still possessed both his eyes--but the fact that it was Einar standing there, her own Einar working so hard to remain upright under the weight of his chosen load, swaying a bit dizzily and looking at her with a question in his eyes…well, that somehow left the whole thing appearing to her a good bit more humorous than alarming. Although, she had to admit, he does seem on occasion rather ancient and timeless and strange…minus the ancient part, I guess, because he certainly isn’t that, though lately he’s been looking it, just a bit[/I], and she went to him, moving slowly so as not to startle the raven back into flight, put a hand on his where he was gripping the spear for all he was worth in the struggle to stay on his feet.

“Ready to head for home?”

Einar nodded, stared for a moment at the timbered ridge opposite them across the narrow draw that ran below them, water flowing gently but quite audibly over rock at its bottom. “Yep, ready if you are. Like to be away from that chopper, in case they take a notion to come looking for elk over here. Figure we’ll cross the draw, start up the other side and see what things look like from the top. Easiest would probably be to…just top out on the red ridge again, follow it until we were looking down into our basin, but of course we can’t risk that sort of exposure with aircraft and men and who knows what else all in the area today. So it’s gonna be a lot of up and down for us, I’m afraid. Lot of ridge crossing until we get back closer to the cabin.”

“I know. It’ll be slow, but we’ll get there.”

Taking to the sky again as Einar began walking, Muninn trailed out in front of them, seeming to scout their route as he skimmed the treetops, making it to the summit of the opposite ridge in well under three seconds and swooping back to meet them; Liz wished for a moment they might be able to travel like that, but supposed she’d have to settle for watching the bird, enjoying the freedom of his flight and benefiting, on occasion, from the warnings he might give them of potential danger, as he had done up on the red ridge when he’d saved Einar from stepping out into the open in full view of Oscar Bennington and the elk survey.

Reaching the bottom of the draw fairly quickly, it was slow going as they started up its opposite side, terrain steep and their way blocked here and there by downed trees that left Einar struggling very nearly at the limits of his endurance as he hauled himself up over one and then another of them, finding himself very nearly pulled over backwards with every step by the load on his back and looking to Liz, when she glanced back, far less like the hero of some ancient saga than a man fighting hard for his life and continued existence in a struggle whose outcome was as yet rather undetermined. Which is exactly the sort of thing legends are made of, when it comes down to it, but none of that mattered at the moment; she just wanted to find some way to help him up that slope, ease the burden that appeared to be crushing the life out of him, pulling and twisting his ribs as it left him continually fighting to maintain his balance. Einar, of course, denied any difficulty when she returned to the spot where he stood hunched forward, supporting some of the pack’s weight with his hands and working to take a few full breaths before resuming his climb.

“Little slow today, but I’ll get there. No problem. If you hurry…might have time for a little nap at the top of the ridge while you wait for me…”

Liz sighed, smiled and offered him some water. I see that you’re making light of things as you usually do when the situation is especially dire and you don’t want to look at it for what it is…Einar, I don’t know how to talk to you when you’re like this. I’d like to just come right out and say, “look, I can see that your ribs are killing you, and you’re probably tearing things up worse inside by insisting on lugging that heavy pack up over all these trees, bending and twisting and I’ll be surprised if you get up to the top of the ridge without puncturing a lung at this rate,” but that wouldn’t be especially useful, would it, because even if I don’t believe you when you say nothing’s wrong and you’re doing fine--I’m not buying that for a minute--you really do believe it, don’t you? Have got yourself convinced, and if I do anything to shake that certainty in you, it seems you really may not make it up this slope! So, I won’t do that. “I’m not looking to take a nap, just want to find a better way to carry things! I was wondering how it might work to real quick build a travois-type thing for the meat…more like a stretcher, really, because we wouldn’t be dragging it, not through all this downed timber. I’d carry one end, you the other, and maybe it would be easier than hauling the meat on our back.”

“Are you having trouble with your pack?”

“No, I’m fine, but I thought….”

“If the pack’s working for you we’d better go ahead and stick to them, because carrying something like you’re describing, while it would work, would really slow us down, too. Harder to maneuver over trees and around obstacles with it…can be a fine plan if you’re hauling an injured person and have the luxury of choosing your route based on what’s gonna be easiest on them--and on you--but we really don’t have that today. Need to stick to the heavy timber where we’ll be hidden if that chopper makes a pass over here on its way out of the area, later.”

Injured person on a stretcher…yeah, that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid here, because if you end up with a punctured lung, I’m either dragging you along behind on a travois of some sort and beating you half to death on trees as we make our way home--which I might just be in the mood to do, if you keep pushing yourself until that happens!--or we’re camping until you either get better or die, and it’s probably going to be the second and it won’t take too long either, will it? Einar didn’t answer, of course, and as he took Liz’s silence to mean that she had understood his reasons for not wanting to try the travois and did not disagree, he started moving again. Had to keep moving, or he wasn’t going to be getting too far with that meat and hide. Could feel it. Liz was right there beside him, looking, when he glanced at her, as if she very badly wanted to say something, but she never did, and together they reached the top of the ridge some time later, Muninn the raven waiting for them there in the topmost branches of an old, fire-blackened limber pine. On the far horizon, separated from them by several more deep, timber-choked gorges, Einar recognized the distinctive granite spur that marked an area not too far above the cabin. Though two or three miles and surely, considering the terrain, even more hours than that distant, home was within sight, and the sight was a good one.

*************************

Continuing its work amongst the numerous small draws and basins that swept down from the heights of the red ridge, the helicopter’s hum, the popping of its rotors when banking sharply or moving from one drainage to the next was a constant reminder to Einar that they were not alone that day, not nearly as alone as he would have liked, and the sound of it wore on him, left him jumpy and silent, driving himself as hard as he was able and almost certainly harder than was wise up the side of one ridge and down another, working to get away from that menace. Liz saw what he was doing, might, under other circumstances, have tried to talk him into taking a break and tried to reason with him, convince him that the threat was not what he was making it to be, but that day it seemed the sooner they could make it back over to their own basin, the better. Even if their speed was driven by Einar’s perhaps less than proportional (she hated to say less than rational, but that would probably have applied, also) reaction to the presence of the chopper. He was struggling, had been since they’d left the cabin--since he’d hurt his ribs, really--and she knew a time had to be coming when he would find himself for a time unable to go on any longer, body forcing him into the rest his mind still seemed unwilling to allow him, and as far as she was concerned, both their chances were looking a lot better if that could happen once back at the cabin, rather than out on the trail. Which made her, in a strange, roundabout way--she didn’t like the sound of it either, the constant buzzing whine that reminded her they were hunted creatures, and probably always would be, they and their children--appreciative of the helicopter’s presence. It was keeping him going, and at a pace better than he could have likely forced himself to maintain otherwise, even if making his best effort. At times, Liz found herself struggling to keep up. Still she wished they might try her idea of doing away with the heavy packs and carrying the entire load suspended between them, but could see that Einar had probably been right about any such attempt only slowing them further, making progress across the downed timber that seemed their lot that day even more difficult and treacherous, and as he had apparently managed alright so far without twisting the wrong way and puncturing a lung under the weight of his pack, she could only hope the rest of the trip might go as well. Perhaps the ribs were beginning to heal a bit, after all.

Einar was operating under no such illusions. Wasn’t much thinking about the ribs, actually, not in such an objective manner as Liz, at least. His only real thought--other than of the terribly persistent ever-presence of that cursed Jet Ranger--was of the tracks the two of them were--or weren’t--leaving, and how to minimize said trail. Beyond that the world was a great emptiness for him, a hot, hissing whiteness in which the struggle to breathe took every ounce of concentration and energy he could throw at it, the hurt of continuing to force an adequate volume of air past the burning constriction of the injured ribs leaving him half blind at times and sweating, and he would have wished desperately for an end to it all, had he possessed the spare brain power to consider the possibility of such a thing. But--perhaps fortunately--he did not, and so kept going. Liz caught up to him beneath a stand of golden-leafed aspens where he had taken a short pause, did not want to break his concentration but could see that he must have water, pressed it upon him until he saw her, accepted. They had by that time covered well over half the distance to the cabin; home was at last looking like a real possibility, something they could hope to achieve before nightfall. Something to take care of first, though--a couple of things, really--and she began trying to help Einar out of his pack, but he shook his head and gently pushed her hand aside, struggled back to his feet.

“Einar, what about the elk hide? I think it’s almost directly above us here, up this draw a ways. Should I go get it?”

No, he wanted to tell her, got to keep going, can’t stop, I’m gonna be worse than useless if I stop right now, been here in one place too long already, and besides, we can’t risk going up there where the timber runs out and we might be seen, but he knew it made sense to bring the hide along with them, save themselves another trip out onto the ridge and perhaps risk losing the hide altogether--at least until the next spring--if a big storm should come and cause the drifts to pile high against the rocks beneath which they had cached it. They needed that hide, needed every one they were able to get their hands on, and might as well retrieve it while in the area. Was a long way up to treeline though, and now that his almost mechanical headlong march for the cabin had been interrupted, he wasn’t so sure he had it in him to make the extra climb. No matter. He’d have to make it happen, one way or another, and was about to tell her so, but she spoke first.

“There’s no sense in lugging all the meat up there, since it’s higher than we need to go just to get back to the basin, so why don’t you wait here with all the meat, and I’ll run up there real quick and get the hide, meet you back here and we can figure out the best way to divide everything up for the rest of the walk?”

“The helicopter and…”

“I know. I’ll watch for it, only go out in the open when--and if--it’s well down behind a ridge. It seems to be spending most of its time down behind the ridges anyway, looking at the elk.”

“I should come with you. Not separate.”

“You need to guard the meat, and this marvelous goat hide. The trees here aren’t big enough to safely hang them in, and it would be just awful if we came back to find that the coyotes had been at them…”

She had a point and he nodded, allowed her to finish helping him out of his pack, sinking to the ground beside it and hoping desperately that he was consenting to the idea because it made most sense, and not simply because his own weakness was finally getting the better of him…felt like the latter, and he didn’t like it one bit, but wasn’t quite getting enough oxygen, it seemed, to do anything about the fact. Seemed suddenly to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open, even. Liz was moving her pack closer to him, helping him scoot back so that he was supported by one of the larger aspens and handing him his spear, making sure the atlatl and darts and his water were within easy reach, saying something he couldn’t quite get his brain around and then she was gone, moving quickly up the mixed talus and scrub of the draw, up towards the ridge, and the elk hide. Come back. I didn’t understand. Needed to say something to you…but he couldn’t remember what, and couldn’t make himself shout after her even when he tried, so soon gave the entire thing up, trying to focus on watching for threats to the meat and hide, but ending up instead rather fascinated with studying the patterns of moving light made by the wind in the aspens, golden, shifting light that fell across his legs and kept changing the color of his hands from white to golden to grey when the shadows fell across them, and back again, rhythmical but not entirely predictable, and he could have gone right on watching it all day long, had not the droning of the distant helicopter changed sharply in tone, grown louder and more insistent, dragging him back to the present.

Time had passed. A good bit of time, judging from the angle of the light and the fact that his hands weren’t golden anymore, or even white or grey as they had been in the sunshine and shadow, but quite purple, and the sun was gone and he was cold. Evening, and the helicopter seemed to be leaving for the night; far down the valley he could hear it clattering away, sound growing fainter. Liz was still gone. Should have been back and he tried to rise, look for her--perhaps she had returned some time ago and decided to take a nap amongst the aspens--but his legs wouldn’t work. Wouldn’t respond at all, and he rubbed them, beat them with clenched fists until finally he could begin to feel their ache--something, at least it was something, had to be better than nothing at all--but still they remained useless, stiff, wouldn’t support his weight when finally he managed to haul himself upright with his arms, clinging to the branches of two trees. No matter. Guessed he’d just let himself sit for too long, get too cold and cramped up after the long climb, would be alright in a few minutes. And Liz…Liz would know what to do, would give him some of that wonderful sweet-tart bear fat, venison and chokecherry pemmican she was always carrying around, maybe a bit of liver or… But there was no Liz, she was nowhere to be seen and in a moment of near panic he remembered the receding sound of the chopper, wondered if they were leaving not because it was evening, but because they had seen her up there, somehow managed to capture her…which must have been their mission all along, the wildlife survey merely a ruse to put them a bit more at ease, make them easier to approach, and to take…

*****************


Muninn, watching him from the tree, looked skeptical of his idea and so, Einar supposed, should he be; Liz was careful and had known the risks of climbing up above treeline with people on the ground and the chopper in the air, and it seemed quite unlikely that she would have allowed herself to be seen, let alone captured. And the wildlife survey probably was…exactly what it seemed to be.  Still, the unexpected did happen, and Einar could not shake a feeling that something must have gone terribly wrong up there to delay her so.  Wanted to go looking for her, start after her up the draw where he'd watched her disappear, but he knew he must not leave any of the meat behind lest they risk losing it to hungry scavengers, and when he measured the two loads with his eyes, trying to think what it would be like to carry both up that slope on his back, he shook his head, lowered himself back to the ground beside the pack boards.  Couldn't even seem to haul himself around very effectively at the moment, and could tell he would be hard-pressed, if nothing changed, to get his own scrawny carcass up that chute, let alone all or even half the meat.  Well then, something had to change, he had to make it change so he'd be ready if Liz did not show up soon or if he had reason to believe she needed help up there or wherever they’ve taken her...don't go there Einar, you know they probably haven’t taken her at all, but he couldn't help it, and when he thought of trying to get himself down to the valley, find out where they had gone with her and devise a plan for getting her back, all without getting the three of them--or at least the two of them, guess I’m pretty expendable in this mix, when it comes down to it--killed, it was almost more than he could wrap his brain around. 

Sure hope you're safe up there Lizzie 'cause if not, doggone it, I'm coming for you and there’s no way that child of ours is gonna be raised in captivity.  Shouldn’t have let you go up there by yourself, not now with the baby probably limiting how fast you can move if things do go wrong...though truly there isn't much sign of it in the way you conduct yourself day to day, a person would hardly know, aside from the little one being so visible now...  And with the possibility of a rescue mission of one sort or another foremost in his mind and suddenly rather angry at himself  for allowing the combination of circumstances that had rendered him all but useless when it came to such things he forced himself to his feet, put all of his concentration into keeping his legs under him and, locking his knees, managed it for a good fifteen seconds or so before collapsing in a heap on the goat hide, out of breath and so cramped up he could barely pry himself out of the ball he'd curled into.  

Not working too well is it?  Looks like a fella can only get so far on water and adrenalin, no matter how thoroughly convinced he may be that he can sustain himself indefinitely that way, and your legs seem to be telling you they’re about through. Things aren’t working right, electrolytes out of balance and what muscle is left not doing what you need it to do.  Gonna have to have some more to eat...you know how it is, don’t have to wait for Liz to come along and remind you about the liver or shove some broth into your hands and stand over you with the rabbit stick until you finish it, like she’s just about resorted to doing a few times here lately...just get yourself some more of that liver, why don’t you?

Which he did, but only, he insisted to himself, as if needing to justify the action, because there was some chance Liz would be needing him up there, and he simply had no way to get there in his present condition.  Liver helped so he had some more, more, even, than he'd had just after cleaning the goat, felt like sleeping after that but kept himself wide awake watching for Liz to reappear at the top of that chute, listening for the scrape or clatter of a rock from far above, anything that would have given him some indication that she was on her way, but hearing nothing.  Glancing up at the sunlight on the adjacent ridge he wondered how long it had been since he'd awakened, returned to awareness, whatever he'd done, and though it felt like hours he could see it had not been long at all.  He would wait then, had to wait, give her adequate time to make her way back down on her own before going after her, and in the meantime, he set about trying to figure a way to secure the meat in his absence, should he have to make the trip up there.  Sure wasn't taking it with him.  But at least he could stand again, legs not too steady and feeling on the verge of cramping up again if he demanded too much of them but they would get him up the slope, and would have to do.  

The meat and hide he would have to cache, piling heavy granite slabs all around it until it was covered and hoping they would be enough to temporarily keep it from the jaws of scavengers, as the area entirely lacked in trees large enough to suspend such a quantity of food far enough off the ground to do it any good.  The strategy would work quite well against coyotes as they were not strong enough to move aside the rocks he would use--that’s assuming you’re strong enough to move the rocks you’re gonna use, which is assuming a lot, today--but bears, if one should happen along, would have no trouble at all accessing the meat.  Well.  He'd do what he could.  And had better get started, long as it might take him to move all those rocks into place.  Wouldn't want to be starting the job just as dark was approaching, Liz still having made no appearance and he deciding that he must go after her.  Granite existed there on the slope in abundance, the ground beneath the timber being little more than a slightly overgrown rockslide, so Einar had no trouble finding suitable slabs as he moved the two packs close together, covered them with the hide and began encasing the lot in rock, one slab after another, building them up higher and all the time keeping one ear out for Liz.  Or the helicopter.  Or both.  Moving quickly at first Einar got the first two rows of rocks stacked, slowing down then despite his best efforts, as the strain of all that heavy lifting began to wear on his ribs, further inflaming things and making it increasingly difficult and costly to draw a full breath.  Had to keep going. 

One can only keep going so long on inadequate oxygen, however, and after a time Einar found himself draped forward over the partially built cairn, pressing his ribs and feeling near losing consciousness as he fought to clear the welling blackness from before his vision, get back to work. Would have managed it sooner, he was pretty sure, had his heart not been behaving so strangely, speeding up and then slowing down and seeming to miss beats here and there, only adding to his breathless, and he drifted for a good while somewhere between dream and a desperate, wide-eyed attempt to keep himself breathing. The dream side of things won out after a time, Einar’s head falling forward and the world going dark. Watching him, Muninn the raven stirred restlessly on his perch, glided down and brought Einar hastily back to full awareness when he landed on a nearby rock and gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder.  And almost got himself turned into supper, too, barely hopping back quickly enough to avoid Einar's knife.

"Don't do that to me, you cantankerous old vulture, not if you want to live through the evening..."  But he was grateful to the bird, really, once he got over his startlement a bit, took a gulp of water and returned to work on the cairn, completing another row of rocks before again pausing.

The sun had gone from the far ridges as he worked, and still Liz had not returned.  He was going to have to make that climb.  Or so he thought, until Muninn, who had been watching his work with a critical eye, tilting his head this way and that and at times offering a harsh word or two by way of commentary, took flight and swooped up along the heavily timbered sides of the draw, circling and rasping and cawing around a spot nearly halfway up before returning to Einar and roosting on the half-finished meat-cairn, croaking and cawing and generally making a fuss looking like he wanted to take off again.

"What is it up there, fella?"  Einar whispered to the bird as if half expecting an answer.  "You see her in those trees, real fine looking lady with an elk hide on her back, or is it someone else that's got your feathers all ruffled?  Never seen you get upset like that about Lizzie showing up."

Muninn answered him with a quick peck to the arm and a harsh rasping, launching himself back up into the air and again making the quick glide up the draw.  Einar didn't like it, thought the bird's behavior most unusual compared from what he'd come to expect of it, almost as though the creature were trying to alert him to the presence of whoever or whatever was up there...or it of him, which appeared to be more the case, but that hardly made sense.  Either way he knew he must be ready, left the meat and crept up in amongst the timber above the cairn, small but dense and concealing, working his way slowly up towards the spot where the raven seemed to be focusing most of his rather noisy attention.  If it was Liz coming down that draw so much the better, but the bird's behavior indicated something different, more sinister, and Einar's mind went immediately to a number of possible scenarios, chief among them being that with Liz captured and taken off in the chopper, they were now coming for him.  He would be ready. Would not let it end that way, not for him, and not for her, either.  If only that doggone bird would quit swooping back and circling round his head, alerting the enemy to every change in his position... 

*******************

Moving carefully and as quietly as he was able, Einar continued working his way up towards the source of the raven's alarm, knife in hand as he went, knowing that when he closed with his foe, the distance would likely be quite short and the timber too dense to make much use of the atlatl.  A bit more climbing, Muninn's calls seeming to grow more and more frantic as the distance closed between Einar and his adversary, and then he could hear it, a faint swish and crackle as the man--men?  Almost certainly wouldn't send just one--worked his way down the draw, still hidden from sight by a screen of shoulder-high firs so dense the sunlight could barely pass through them...when it was sunny, which it was not, and Einar was cold but didn't feel it except in the untimely cramping of his legs as he fought to remain standing, searching, hoping to ambush his foes and dispatch them silently before they could send word that they had been spotted, radio for help, all but one, who he must keep alive at least long enough to extract from him all the information the man might have on where they’d taken Liz, what they intended to do with her and what their plan might be for bringing him in, and who knew? Perhaps he’d end up having to keep the man as a hostage, head down with him to town and negotiate for…no way, forget that. Would never work. You’d all end up dead, you and the fed and Liz and the baby, all of you, if you try anything that direct…  Close.  They were very close, and Einar stopped moving, took up a position perched somewhat precariously on the narrow trunk of a fallen aspen, waiting, hovering directly upslope from what looked to him like their most probable path and fighting hard to prevent himself toppling over and ending up lying on his face in said path, which despite his focus on the approaching enemy he felt himself rather close to doing, wished they’d hurry up and show themselves... 

The enemy did not come. Liz did.  She looked worried, hurried as she emerged from the trees and began casting about it search of him, and Einar observed her in silence for several seconds from his position of concealment, watching to make sure she wasn't being followed as he didn't want to give himself away and lose his advantage if she was, but she did not appear to be, not closely, at least, and it was with great relief that Liz regarded him the next moment as he eased down from his perch and joined her beside the cache.  Throwing down her burden--appeared that whatever else might have gone wrong up there, she had indeed retrieved the elk hide--she ran to him, took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye for a long moment before leading him over to the nearest pile of rocks where he sat down heavily, suddenly very dizzy and not understanding why, not liking it. Einar did not understand her behavior, either, kept glancing up the draw behind them and wanted very much to ask what had delayed her, how great a hurry they might need to be in as they took their leave of the area.  Tried to get the words out but just ended up coughing instead, which hurt his ribs and felt as though it must be tearing something in there, and besides Liz wasn't listening, was wrapping his middle with a strip of cloth, tying it and insistently holding water from her container--his had been empty for hours--up to his mouth so that he couldn’t have spoken even had it not been for the coughing fit, and finally he drank just to get her to stop.

"What is it, what...what's the hurry here?  They see you?  Coming?" 

"They...no!  No one was up there.  No one saw me.   I just got tied up for a while and I'm awfully sorry, tell you about it soon but I was hurrying because of Muninn.  He came to get me and it seemed pretty urgent the way he was carrying on, trying to lead me to you in a hurry, so I hurried."

"Oh no, nothing...I thought they might have found you up there, nothing wrong down here but I was trying to get this cairn done so I could leave the meat and come for you, and guess I...wasn't working quite as quickly as I should have been, but it was coming along.  The cairn.  Wanted to protect the meat while I was away.  I was about to start up there when you showed up... Don’t know why Muninn was so anxious to get you down here. Way he was acting I thought he was trying to warn me about whoever was coming, but I’m sure glad he wasn’t, because he kept flying from you to me and swooping in on me in a way that would have surely given me away, had it been the enemy and not you who was coming…  What happened?  You run into some sort of trouble up there?" 

Nothing wrong down here?  Except for you being half frozen, terribly short on water and having worked yourself nearly to death moving these rocks, you mean?  This raven was a smart bird, coming for me when he did. I thought he was talking to me the way he kept swooping back and forth between us, trying to tell me I needed to come quickly.  He knows when a person’s getting in trouble and needs some help realizing it… "No trouble, really. I ran into terrain that wasn't quite as I'd remembered it, that's all.  Going up the way I did left me a big open space of steep rock to cross--probably two or three hundred yards of it with nothing but some little mats of willow for concealment--before I reached the level where we'd stashed the hide, and with that chopper still buzzing around in the distance and men on the main ridge, I sure didn't want to commit to that much time out in the open.  So I had to inch my way over through the steep timber until I found a spur where the little trees went a lot further up, and I could make my way along without being out in the open.  It worked but took so much longer than I'd anticipated, because those little trees were so tangled and close-growing, and the whole spur was chopped up here and there with little draws and ten foot cliffs I had to either climb or go around, both on the way up and again after I'd got the hide and was heading down...I'm so sorry for using our entire afternoon this way!"

Einar didn't say anything, just pressed her to him and kissed the top of her head, scent of her hair sweet like willows in the sunshine. "You're quite a mountain woman, Lizzie.  Real proud of you.  Did exactly what you needed to do.  And got the hide, too."

"Oh I had no intention of leaving the hide, not after making that climb!  But I'm sorry I made you worry by being gone so long...and this cairn had to be a tremendous amount of work."

"Ah, you didn't make me worry, really.  Managed that all by myself.  Just glad we're back on the same chunk of rock again, now."

"Why, because you've 'kinda got used to' me, just like you said about the raven?" 

Einar smiled, got that faraway look in his eyes that Liz had seen a number of times but could never quite interpret, looked away.  "Yep.  Guess that must be it.  Something like."  And she didn't mind his answer at all...
***********************

Afternoon gone, evening well underway and the meat almost entirely protected by Einar's mostly-finished cairn, it seemed to Liz only sensible that they should stay where they were for the night, rather than attempting to finish the several hours of mixed climbing and descent that would be required to reach the cabin.  Einar, knowing how hard she had worked in retrieving the hide, did not object to the plan.

"Can't have a fire here though, not with us being still pretty close to the red ridge and those men, for all we know, still up there.  Have to stick with a cold supper if we stay here."

"I'll admit I was really looking forward to a nice hot stew of fresh goat and serviceberries, but we still have some pemmican left, and between that and the remainder of this liver, we ought to be able to come up with a fine supper.  I think we need to go ahead and camp here for the night.  I could make it home and so, I'm sure, could you, but it would be well after dark and little Snorri was starting to complain a bit on the last part of that descent, so I think he'd be happier if I stopped now for the night."

"Complain?  You having trouble?"

"No too much.  Just some contractions that were a little heavier than normal, and some cramping...it's all stopped now, and will be just fine, I'm sure.  I probably just need more water, like you did.  And still do.  Here, let's each have some."

"I'm out of water.  Wanted to go down there to the seep in the bottom of this draw and fill up my container, but couldn't leave the meat until the cairn was finished.  If you'll stay with the meat, I'll go get us all some more water."

She didn’t want to let him go, not the way he was looking, eyes all distant and face drawn despite the water she’d given him and his largely successful attempts to actively participate in the conversation, but being truly tired herself and ready to be off her feet for a while she nodded, handed him her water container and the cooking pot. The seep, as she remembered, was not too far down below them, just a small smear of dampness on a moss-covered slab of granite, and they hadn’t even bothered to stop on the way up, but she was sure Einar would find some way to extract water from it, and replenish their supply. So she stayed, working to stack a few more of the stones he’d gathered and complete the cairn--a tremendous amount of work he’d done in collecting and stacking those rocks, and she shook her head at the realization of the effort he’d put into it--thoroughly covering the meat but first removing the hide from the cache. Already the evening was quite chilly; they’d be needing the warmth of that good thick wool to get through their fireless night on the mountainside. Would need some shelter from the wind, too, and she spread out the contents of their two packs, taking the sheep hide, which still hadn’t had the opportunity to dry after its soaking in the hailstorm the day before--wish Einar would have spread it out in the sun while I was gone this afternoon so it could have at least begun drying, but it sounds like he was trying to keep himself ready to leave here at a moment’s notice, so I can’t blame him for leaving everything all packed up, really--and draping it over two stubby little firs adjacent to the cairn. While too wet to provide them any warmth or insulation for the night, the sheep hide ought, she thought, to serve quite well in breaking the force of the wind. And the deer hide, in which they’d slept the previous night, was dry, as were their clothes--a huge improvement over last night, and that’s not even taking into consideration this incredible goat hide we’ve got to cover ourselves with! It’s looking like this may be our first truly warm night since leaving the cabin, if nothing happens to interfere with it. Like another hailstorm. Or Einar somehow managing to enlarge that seep so much in his quest for water that he ends up sitting in it and comes back thoroughly soaked and mostly frozen…that would interfere, all right! But I don’t think even he can get that much water from a damp slab of granite. I’ll have to hope not! And she shook her head at the thought of it, began searching for a few soft-needled fir boughs with which to cushion their bed and get them up off the cold, rocky ground for the night. Having amassed a good-sized pile of small branches--not her first choice in bed-making, normally, but on that high, rocky slope, all the branches were small ones--Liz carefully stacked and arranged them behind the sheep hide screen some twenty feet from the meat cairn, close enough to hear and intervene if anything tried to get at their food in the night, but far enough away not to be directly in the critter’s path, should it be something like a bear. Branches all in place she tucked the dry deer hide in overtop them, spreading the incredibly heavy, woolen coat of the mountain goat over that. A fine bed, and the best they’d had since leaving the cabin, for sure.

Einar, meanwhile, was having a hard time obtaining much water at all from the seep, whose extent his thirsty brain had apparently rather badly overestimated. Finding no puddle in the rather porous gravel beneath the slab over which the water oozed he tired pressing a length of nettle cordage against the dampest part of the rock, trailing its bottom end down into the cookpot and hoping it might serve as a channel for moisture to run down, eventually filling the pot. Which it would have, by morning perhaps, but as Einar crouched there shivering in the raw wind and watching--squinting, light beginning to fail--one slow drop after another find its way down into the pot, he knew he’d better be coming up with another strategy. While he might not have minded spending an entire night watching--and then listening to--water seep and dribble into the pot, Liz would doubtless have some objections, especially considering that she was short on water and counting on him to fetch her some. Shaking himself from the near-trance into which he’d settled and rubbing cold-stiff hands to restore some flexibility he began choosing clumps of moss that had grown up along the course of the water, squeezing them into the pot and filling it with reasonable speed, that way. Wasn’t enough water to fill both their containers and the pot, as Liz had hoped, and knowing how long it would take those moss clumps to become saturated again Einar stood, cupped his hands around his ears and turned his head this way and that, listening for an alternate source of water, but hearing nothing. Not close by, at least, and with darkness nearly complete and Liz up there at the cairn waiting for her water, he decided to call it a night and make do with what they had, which amounted to well over a quart between them. Too bad we’re not up just a bit higher, or we could be using one of those icy little leftover snow banks for water. Leaving the cookpot behind with his bit of cordage trailing into it in the hopes of finding it full come morning he started stiffly up the slope, much to the relief of Liz, who had begun to wonder if he really had found a way to turn that little seep into a pool and decided to soak himself in it for the night. Would not have been entirely unlike him…

“Little short on water tonight. Seep wasn’t what I remembered it being.”

His voice sounded all shivery and exhausted--was too dark by that time to see more than faint, shadowy silhouettes in the last of the evening light; darkness was coming noticeably earlier, of late--and she wished they might have a fire that night after all, heat what water he had managed to scrape together and have a little hot soup and tea, but knew she’d have to be content with the fact that they had a good dry warm bed, plenty of fresh liver and some leftover pemmican for their supper, a bit of shelter from the wind and were, come morning, only a few hours’ travel from home.

*************************

Anxious to be on her way home and hoping very much to be able to get Einar further from the red ridge before the helicopter returned for the day--if it intended to return--Liz was up early, lying wide awake on her side of their improvised bed of fir boughs, deer hide and mountain goat wool and staring up at the gently swaying tops of the little firs and the stunted, twisted orange-leafed aspens that had shielded them for the night as she contemplated their route, comfortable and hardly wanting to move but knowing they needed to be on their way. The night had been a surprisingly comfortable one considering the exposed, windy location of their camp and its lack of fire, mountain goat wool keeping them so warm that she was reasonably certain not even Einar had been awakened in the night due to the cold. He certainly did not appear cold at the moment, sprawled out on his back under the goat hide with arms crossed on his chest and the lines in his face looking just a bit less deep and firmly set than she’d been used to seeing them of late--must have found a more comfortable position for his ribs last night because it looks like he’s breathing a little easier, not hurting as badly, and I’m guessing the simple fact that he’s thoroughly warm for once and not having to shiver and huddle just to get through the night probably had a lot to do with that--seeming so exhausted yet so peaceful all at once that Liz hated to disturb him, but she knew his peace would never last past the first distant buzz of that returning helicopter, eased her way out of bed and began preparations to be on their way.

Awake at Liz’s first movement but seeming unable to quite get his eyes open--would have been able to manage it, no doubt, had there been some indication of a threat out there, but she was moving slowly, calmly; seemed all was well--Einar lay there for a time drifting near sleep, a great heaviness in his limbs and in his head that wanted to hold him down, pressing, leaden, pleasant in its own way and he would have liked to give in to it, go back to sleep but instead fought it--you’re just worn out and short on water, Einar, and it’s not gonna get a whole lot better until you get up and drink something, stir around, maybe even eat a little--got himself finally rolled over and up onto hands and knees, leaving the warmth of the bed and finding himself suddenly fully awake in the morning chill. Liz crouched over the cairn, dismantling it and removing the meat, and he joined her, moving slowly, legs still feeling the effects of whatever had knocked him off his feet and left him practically immobile for a time during Liz’s absence the day before. Fine morning, he wanted to tell her, time to head for home just as soon as we get things packed up, and it took him a long time to realize, sitting there helping with the meat and wondering why she wouldn’t answer, that he had not spoken at all. You need water. No more delays. Brain’s not working the way you think it is. But they’d finished everything the night before with their supper, Einar having poured most of his portion of their quart of shared water into Liz’s canteen so she would think they had plenty and be sure to drink as much as she needed--wouldn’t do to have her going into labor on the way back up to the cabin because she was dehydrated--which she had, and now it was all gone, but he knew what had to be done, got to his feet and started dizzily down towards the seep. Which alarmed Liz--she’d been trying to get some response from him since he’d joined her that morning, but he seemed not to be hearing her, and now here he was taking his hasty leave from the camp and nearly running into a small cluster of aspens with his first few steps--and she went after him. Quickly as Einar was moving, walking headlong into trees but somehow seeming to bounce off them and continue without too much harm to himself--or the trees, poor things might end up dented by that hard head of his--Liz did not catch up until he’d nearly reached the seep, hung back and watched as he fell to his knees beside the entirely filled cook pot and consumed nearly half of its contents in one big, thirsty gulp, remaining there bowed over the damp granite slab for some minutes looking as though he was about to be sick as his body began absorbing the badly needed moisture. Finally Liz moved a bit closer and Einar looked up somewhat sheepishly, offered her the remaining water.

“Took all night, but the thing got full.”

“Yes. It’ll be enough. There’ll almost certainly be a little creek in the next draw, and we can fill up there. Come on now,” she grabbed an arm, pulled him to his feet, “it’s time to go.”

Not understanding the sudden urgency with which Liz wanted to be on their way and a bit puzzled at what he took to be an unusual level of crossness in her dealings with him--maybe she’s not feeling well this morning, tired from all her work yesterday and anxious to be at home--Einar hurried as well as he could back up to the cairn, Liz offering him a steadying hand now and then when he appeared likely to walk into a tree again or topple over backwards down the slope. Wasn’t bothering him much aside from the slight delay thrown into the climb, but as Liz seemed disturbed by the trend--must be in a pretty big hurry to get back to the cabin, and I can’t really blame her--Einar reluctantly accepted her assistance from time to time, and before he knew it they were on their way up the slope above that night’s camp with packs on their backs. It was always to remain a mystery to him how he’d got into that pack, and why he didn’t remember doing it, would later disturb him but for the moment he was so focused on keeping up with Liz--what’s got into that woman today? Never seen her move so fast I don’t believe, and my doggone legs just aren’t working the way they’re supposed to--that the thought did not even enter his mind.

Then the chopper came, zipping up the valley and hovering once more on the ridge, scouring the intricacies of its many adjoining basins and draws, and after that Einar had no more trouble at all keeping up with her.

Home. He knew the place long before catching sight of the distinctive granite outcropping that marked the area above the cabin itself, knew they needed to approach with caution on the chance--was always the chance, and always would be, so long as they were living as hunted creatures--that the place had been discovered in their absence, kept under surveillance or booby trapped or…Liz had paused too, was looking at him rather sharply and he realized that he’d sunk to his elbows in the prickly yellow remains of the summer’s grass there beneath his chosen evergreen, stomach pressed into the ground in an unconscious effort to give his ribs a bit of relief, and he scrambled up, back against the tree.

“Need to be careful how we do this. Circle the place. Make sure no one’s been here.”

“I already have. It looks fine.”

“You…?” Got to his feet, squinting up at the sun and desperately trying to figure out just how much time had passed since he’d last looked up, thought it looked like a good hour or two. “You really need to start kicking me if I go to sleep on my feet like that…no excuse, none at all.”

“You weren’t asleep! You were guarding the meat while I made a circuit of the cabin, checked it out. Somebody had to stay with it, or the coyotes might have moved in.”

Einar nodded, believing her but greatly distressed at having somehow lost the last few hours of the day and knowing that he almost certainly wouldn’t have consented to crouching under a tree at a safe distance while she went to recon the cabin…that was his job, but she’d apparently done it for him this time, and it seemed he ought to be glad, if anything. Grateful. Must let her think so, at least. And he tried, fought back the anger that was rising in him and kept silent instead of insisting, as he wished to do, that he must go take a second look at things before deciding it was safe to approach. She was sharp, competent, and he needed to trust her. Gonna have to in this case, because here we go…

The cabin, much to Einar’s still somewhat doubting relief, was as they had left it, door bearing no new scratches to tell them of attempted raids in their absence and the nearby trees remaining full of their bounty of well-packaged dried meat and fat, and as they worked together to hang the goat meat for the night--the afternoon was cool; the meat could be dealt with the following day--Einar and Liz could not help but think that it had never been better to be home.

[FOTH]

Meat secured, their long journey and the exertions of the morning behind them, Liz wished the remainder of the day to be a time of rest for both of them, for all three, but knew that the goat hide ought first be dealt with, fleshed and perhaps stretched before it had too much more time to begin drying and becoming difficult to work with. The thing was heavy, bulky, and when Einar saw her struggling to carry it over to the leaning aspen trunk they used as a fleshing beam, he helped, securing one end while she took the other. The wool had largely remained clean the way Einar had rolled and carried it on the return to the cabin, would need some brushing to remove bits of lichen and grass from where the goat had lain amongst them, but little else, and Liz admired its sleek white outer hairs, parting them to reveal the dense wool beneath.

“Between the two bear hides and this one--and the extra elk!--we’re doing a lot better on being ready for winter than we were just a few weeks ago. I’d like to see this goat hide made into a coat for you, a vest, maybe, so warm that you could sit out on the rocks in it all night if you wanted to and watch the snow fall, and not get cold…”

Einar laughed softly, shook his head at the image. Would be good snow camo, for sure… “Well, we’ll see. Would make an awfully warm covering for the bed, too, for you and the little one. Incredibly valuable thing to have got hold of, either way. Figure if we can flesh it out today and maybe get it stretched, there’s no real hurry when it comes to braining it and working it soft. Can do that anytime before the snow comes. Or after, but I expect we’ll be wanting the use of the hide, when winter really starts setting in!”

They worked together in silence for a time then, scraping the remaining bits of flesh and fat from the goat hide and tossing occasional bits of the stuff to Muninn. The great bird had taken up a position in the nearby half-rotted remains of a long-fallen spruce and was reminding them frequently of his presence with harsh little rasping noises, hopping now and then from the log to take a few awkward leaps closer and tilt his head at them, too proud to come right out and ask for scraps, but certainly not the least bit subtle about the nature of his desire. Einar grinned at the bird, shook his head and tossed him another bit of meat.

“Earned it several times over on our little expedition to the ridge, you old vulture. Enjoy.”

Turning back to his work Einar moved a bit too quickly and--he’d been fighting it all day--felt his legs go out from under him, tried but failed to prevent the fall and ended up face down with his limbs tangled rather awkwardly around the scraping beam, Liz rushing to help him when she saw that he seemed unable to immediately get back to his feet. He was giving it his best effort, trying hard to hide his struggle from Liz, but it was too late. She took his arm, helped him up onto the aspen trunk where he sat rubbing his legs in a hasty attempt to bring them back to life.

Liz sounded a little scared, despite herself. “What’s wrong with your legs?”

“Ah, nothing much. Been doing this off and on for days, but worse yesterday and today. Just seem to give out after awhile and don’t have any strength in them, won’t respond the way they ought to.”

“Last couple of days? I wish you’d told me. Do they hurt?”

“Ache something awful most of the time, but I’m getting used to it.”

“Getting used to it? Don’t do that! It’s no wonder your legs don’t have any strength in them sometimes, because they hardly have any muscle left on them. Sometimes I really wonder how you do half the things you do when you’re so…” Liz stopped herself, shook her head. What had she been going to say? When you’re so far gone? When you’re so close to finally starving yourself to death, finishing the job once and for all, as you seem so intent on doing? Neither sounded very good at all even if both were true, and seemed not the right sorts of things to be saying, not very productive. “What you really need is protein, you know. Four or five batches of soup every day with meat chunks and nettles and bear fat floating on top and I’m going to make sure you get it, alright?”

He nodded, gave her a little smile, yep, I’m sure you will, and I’ve got to say that sounds awfully good right now… got back to his feet and returned to scraping the hide, this time bracing himself carefully against an adjacent aspen, determined to remain on his feet, and managing it, though with some difficulty. It was late afternoon by the time they finished scraping and stretching the goat hide, sun beginning to sink as Einar threaded the last bit of nettle cordage through the holes he had meticulously punched around the edges of the goat hide, pulling, stretching and finally tying, job finished, hide ready to be raised up into the trees for protection through the night. Liz had taken her leave some time prior to get a fire started in the stove and begin work on supper, savory smells beginning to drift out the open door as Einar struggled to raise the hide high enough to keep it from the depredations of any curious coyotes or bears who might wander by in the night. Couldn’t get it, not quite, not even when grasping the hanging cord in both hands and pulling back with all his might--would have wrapped it around a tree and pulled, but as it turned out there weren’t any quite close enough to allow for that, not with the somewhat too-short length of nettle cordage he’d been left with using, as they were growing somewhat short on cordage--and it frustrated him so that he tried it over and over again until finally the effort left him doubled over on the ground, struggling for breath and pressing his ribs--which did not at all care for the strain--with one hand and maintaining a desperate grip on the cord with the other, not wanting to lose any of the several feet by which he’d so far managed to raise the frame with its heavy burden of goat hide and wool. Angry. Got to be able to do this. You carried the thing, why can’t you raise it? Come on, give it all you got, and it never even occurred to him, as he hauled himself upright and grimly wrapped the cord several times around his arm, that perhaps he ought to have called Liz for help. That time he got it, grabbing his wrapped arm with the opposite hand and throwing himself to the ground with as much force as he could muster, the hide frame coming up off the ground and into the tree as his full weight landed on that cord, after which he lay there for a good three or four seconds breathless and stunned by the hurt of his ribs hitting the ground like that, hardly even noticing that he was still hanging by one arm from the cord, slowly but steadily being pulled up into the tree by the weight of the frame, which was apparently somewhat greater than his own…

Muninn brought him out of it--perhaps sensing the seriousness of his plight or perhaps simply hoping for another scrap of meat--when he gave a harsh cry and floated down to the ground beside Einar, tugging at a bit of his hair and hopping back to await a response. Jarred out of his trance and not at all liking the fact that he found himself suspended rather painfully by one arm and gradually losing all contact with the ground Einar began struggling, would have cut the cord and freed himself but for the knowledge that any such action would send the frame crashing to the ground and possibly damaging it as well as negating all the hard work he’d gone through in raising it in the first place, so he did the next best thing, arching his body and swinging himself to the side until he was able to get both his legs wrapped around the spruce from one of whose branches the frame dangled, raising his upper body so that he could grab a low branch with his free arm, and steady himself. Then came the hard part as he struggled to bring his trapped arm close enough to the tree that he could snag the cord on a stub of a branch, catching it just above the spot where it was wrapped around his arm and quickly wrapping it twice, taking his weight off the arm and allowing him to free it. Hand was white and bloodless and didn’t work at all, but he didn’t care, knew it would be fine, given time. Using his teeth and fingers and whatever else was available he got the cord securely tied to the branch stub, sliding rather unceremoniously down the spruce trunk and to the ground the instant he was finished, badly winded and too exhausted to move, but at the same time so oddly triumphant that he found himself laughing aloud, Muninn standing over him and staring quizzically.

Some minutes later supper was ready and Liz, stepping outside to call Einar for the meal, was pleased to find him stretched out on his back, taking a break beneath a tree and apparently behaving himself quite well. When he responded to her announcement of supper time with nothing more than a slight wave of a hand, as if to say wait, give me a minute, can’t get up just yet, she began to wonder whether she might have misinterpreted the situation, hurried to him and was about to be cross with him for having gone ahead and raised the hide without waiting for her help--she’d offered to help, insisted that she would help--but refrained, seeing as he was arguably doing the right thing in resting afterwards, as she’d been trying unsuccessfully to convince him to do ever since they arrived back home. One thing puzzled her, though, as she stared up into the spruce.

“How did you reach so high to tie that cord? You’re taller than me, but you’re not that tall.”

Einar laughed, slowly rolled over, hoisted himself up to his knees and stood. “Ask the raven…”

Which she did, but the bird wasn’t talking.

*********************

Liz had spared no trouble when it came to preparing their supper that night, adding wild garlic and a generous helping of dried nettles to a pot full of chopped goat meat, along with the creature’s heart. Bits of bear fat had been added to fortify the meal, and a handful of serviceberries thrown in for additional sweetness and flavor, the broth further thickened by the addition of several avalanche lily corms, pounded to a powder and stirred in near the end of the cooking. Off to the side in a coal-burned bowl sat what smelled to Einar like a pudding of some sort, rich and brown and consisting, he found upon later inquiry, of goat’s blood--Liz had managed to save and bring back a quart or so of the stuff--chokecherries and honey, thickened once again with a bit of lily root flour. Limping to the cabin after his struggle with the heavy hide in its frame Einar had been more than ready to simply roll into bed and not move for a very long time, had, in fact, rather doubted his ability to keep himself upright for much longer than it would take to make it in the door, and had been hoping Liz wouldn’t mind if he simply crawled into bed just as he was, travel-worn clothing and all. The smell of that supper, hitting him like a solid wall and enveloping him as he entered the cabin quite changed his mind, reminded him of just how hungry he was after the past few days of hard work and climbing and left him feeling quite wide awake as he hurried over to the water barrel to wash up. During which attempt he promptly fell asleep leaning over the barrel, washrag in hand and head sagging forward until his hair and forehead trailed in the water; had not, apparently, been as wide awake as he’d thought and did not wake again until Liz turned from her stew-stirring and saw him apparently taking a much needed bath…in our drinking water supply!

“Hey, Einar, you’re contaminating it! Let me heat you a pot of water if you want a bath before dinner, but don’t do it right there in the barrel!”

Which got her a surprised grunt from Einar as he returned rather suddenly to wakefulness, whirling around on her with eyes wide and water streaming down his face, shaking his head and snorting as he cleared the water from his nose. “What? No…no bath, I was just…washing up for dinner and guess I must’ve kinda fallen asleep for a second…”

“You were sleeping in there? Now I know you like sleeping in the water from time to time, springs, creeks, half frozen mud puddles or whatever’s available…but seriously, our water barrel?”

“Well it wasn’t intentional!” He was laughing, shaking the water from his hair and drying his face on a sleeve, sopping up the bits of water that had splashed out onto the floor with his sudden departure from sleep. “Think I’d intentionally go to sleep--in the water barrel or otherwise--with the a supper like this one waiting for me?”

“I honestly don’t know what to think of you, sometimes. Sounds like something you might do. Now come on and sit down before you fall asleep again. You need to eat, and the stew’s getting cold.”

Full of good warm stew and pudding and tremendously relieved to be safe at home after their long, uncertain days up on the ridge Einar and Liz slept soundly that night, warm beneath the bear hides and lulled into a deeper rest by a rain that started soft and steady sometime in the early hours of the morning and continued to thoroughly soak the ground, the sweet and earthy odor of damp, newly fallen aspen leaves rising to fill the air.

Several times Einar woke suddenly to listen to the night, his mind returning to the route they had taken on their return to the basin and to the likelihood that he hadn’t been nearly as cautious of their trail as he ought to have been, and at the thought of it his heart would pound terribly until it ached against his ribs and the breath seemed to catch in his throat, urging him up and out of the cabin to go watch, make sure they had not been followed, surrounded in the night…but he knew the possibility was a small one; a major hailstorm and now that night’s rain, besides, separated them from the ridge where the potential had existed for them to be spotted, and if they had somehow been followed, anyway, there was little reason why their enemy should not have surrounded them that previous night while they huddled on the mountainside beneath the flimsy cover of the few stunted firs that had sheltered them.

And a fine fix we’d have been in, too, had the enemy put in an appearance last night, with you barely able to keep on your feet come morning, and having no idea of where you were half the time as the day went on…no excuse for that, none at all and now you’d better try and get some more sleep, so you’ll have some chance of being a more useful sort of critter come tomorrow when it comes time to take care of the goat meat, start on the hide, gather more firewood and generally make this place ready for winter… Which he did, arms crossed over the continuing ache and burn of his ribs and nose tucked beneath the bear hide for warmth, but sleep continued to elude him for a time, ears sharp for sounds from outside and stomach twisting and grumbling with a hunger that Liz’s stew seemed to have awakened in him, so insistently demanding more that finally, afraid of waking Liz with his tossing and turning, he crept from the bed and eased his hunger with a small scoop of bear fat from the nearest of the two hollow-log vessels. Stomach quieted for the moment and his mind somewhat more at ease, as well, he took a moment to stand silently at the door, sampling the rich scents of the rainy night--leaf-rot, damp evergreen, somewhere far off in the distance, a slight tang of willow and, he was pretty sure, the scent of snow being swept down from the high peaks--before returning to bed and finishing the night in quiet slumber.

Morning, and the smell of snow was stronger than it had been when last Einar was out of bed, stronger even than the wonderfully enticing aroma of the previous evening’s supper that lingered in the corners of the cabin to set Einar’s stomach grumbling again as soon as he woke, and when he peered out from beneath the bear hide it was the sight of a stronger than usual light seeping in through the crack above the door, and he knew the snow had reached them in the night. No surprise, considering the temperature; already his face was cold in the chill air of the cabin, shoulders shaking a bit as he sat up to get a better look out through the now mostly chinked door-crack that represented their only way to see out of the cabin.

Got to do something about that, not safe at all, need to have a way to shoot out of here if we need to, not just look out. Maybe I can remedy that today. Yeah. Along with all the other things I’ve got to do…really need to get serious about filling the woodshed so we’ll have plenty to burn when we get two, three day blizzards here and aren’t venturing too far from the cabin for a few days…not real common here but it does happen, and need to have plenty stocked away for when the baby comes, anyway, in case I’m having to stick real close and help Liz then, and am not able to go out every couple days after wood. At least we’ve got our food supplies pretty well squared away after this most recent goat, the last bear, but still got a long way to go on having warm clothes ready. Got the hides though, a good start on them at least, so if nothing else we can wrap up to stay warm until we get the sewing done. Need to be thinking about a couple pairs of snowshoes though, or we’re gonna end up in a situation where we’re getting our lower halves wet and cold every time we have to go anywhere through the snow, at least until it gets consistently cold enough to keep the snow real dry and frozen. Better start gathering some willows for the snowshoes today, for sure, because as late as it is in the year, this storm could be it. Might not melt off, might just keep coming. Not real likely, but I’ve sure seen it this early.

Einar was up by then--took him a while that morning, limbs felt like they weighed a ton and he found the slightest exertion leaving him dizzy and out of breath, on the verge of blacking out, not good, guess you need some more of that stew…and maybe a new set of ribs--and standing at the door, brushing aside the little skiff of snow that had been driven in beneath the door and wrapping a deer hide around his shoulders against the deep chill that had pervaded the place despite the remains of the previous night’s fire. Upon opening the door Einar was greeted by several inches of heavy, wet snow and a howling wind that whipped the still-falling whiteness nearly sideways, plastering it against tree trunks and coating one wall of the cabin, and he hurried to ease the door shut behind him, slipping out quietly into the whiteness, not wanting to wake Liz.

******************

Finding the basin fully engulfed in a fall snow squall whose end did not appear to be anywhere in sight, Einar stood for a time beside the front of the cabin, partially sheltered by it from the full fury of the storm as he squinted up at the white-plastered trunks of the surrounding spruces and firs, bits of gold showing where aspens bent and rattled in the gale.  He shivered, drew the deer hide tighter about his shoulders--way past time to be getting those parkas finished, looks like--and stepped away from the cabin, supporting himself against the woodshed for a moment when he stumbled under the force of an especially strong gust--shed remained well over half empty, despite the previous work he'd done in gathering dry wood, and though they'd stacked numerous scraps and small trees beneath sheltering spruces to dry during the cabin building process, it wasn't enough--and making his way into the timber.  Had to do something about the state of their firewood supply and couldn't see how any time would be better than the present, but did not want to clean out all the standing and leaning dead timber right there around the cabin; that was their emergency supply, and needed to be left in place should a time ever come when they were both struggling, physically, for one reason or another, and had depleted their stored wood.  And... he didn't like to think it, but knew he must, need to leave it there for Liz in case anything happens to me and she finds herself alone here with the baby at some point.  Needs to have a ready supply of wood if that should happen.  Needed, he thought to himself, to have the wood even more readily available than were the standing dead trees near the cabin, if she was to be there by herself, and the thought of it gave him added motivation as he worked his way up the steep slope in back of the cabin, in search of suitable trees.  Needed to fill that woodshed, and needed to do it in a hurry.

Deer hide getting in the way as he worked Einar soon abandoned it, hanging it in the woodshed on one of his return trips, where he hoped it would stay reasonably dry and free of snow and going about his work without its protection, ranging far from the cabin as he hauled in one tree after another, small aspens, mostly, fallen already or at least leaning and most of them with a fresh coating of wind-plastered snow, but he knew they would dry in plenty of time.  Trees were leaving drag marks in the snow, his own footprints joining them to make highly visible trails, but the way it was still snowing and blowing, sky heavily overcast and no hint of sun showing through, he was not terribly concerned.  The storm would cover his tracks, and the woodshed would greatly benefit from his morning of work, meanwhile.

Settling into a rhythm and maintaining it was a task Einar found somewhat difficult that morning, ribs hurting him and breaths seeming to come with far more difficulty than they ought to have but he managed it, working until his hands were purple with the raw, wet cold of the storm, legs near giving out with the work and he would have kept at it still, kept going until he’d filled the woodshed, most probably, had not Liz emerged then from the cabin and seen what he was doing, gone to him.  The look on his face told her he already knew quite well what she thought of his being out working in the storm like that, so she didn’t bother to say it, took the deer hide instead and draped it around his shoulders, put a hand on his arm, took the ten foot aspen he was currently hauling and held on until he relaxed his grip.

“Einar.  It can wait.  Come have some breakfast with me.”
He allowed her to help him with the tree, each taking one end and carrying it into the protection of the woodshed, where they huddled against the wall, wanting to escape for a minute the force of the wind.   

"Snow came."  Einar's voice was rough, a little shaky; couldn't seem to get his breath and he was, despite the heavy work in which he's been engaging, awfully cold. 

"Yes.  Do you figure it's here to stay, or will we have a few more weeks of fall?"

"Hard to say.  Stuff's real wet..."  he stared at his soaked boots, kicking heel against toe and stomping a bit in an attempt to restore some feeling,  "yep, real wet and if the sun comes out later, I don't think it's gonna be with us real long.  It'll linger in the shadows, up on the peaks maybe, but my guess is we'll see the ground again before the snow sets in for good."

"I hope so!  Though I guess even this one storm will help drive the elk down lower, and the hunters too, so that has to be a good thing..."

"Yeah, except that we probably won't be seeing too many more elk.  Or sheep, either." 

"We're doing well on meat, aren't we?  Two bears, the goat, a couple of sheep, for starters..."


"Not bad.  Would have liked to add an elk to it still, but really not bad.  And yes, it'll be good to be able to worry a little less about hunters.  Not safe yet, not as long as the season's still going on, but the snow'll drive most of the game lower, and they'll know it." 

"Well, we added an elk hide at least, on this last trip."

"Yep.  Just got to tan it now, get started on another parka so we'll each have one, and..." 

"And let's finish this conversation inside!"  Liz exclaimed, grabbing Einar's hands and attempting to lead him out of the woodshed, where they'd been standing freezing in the wind as they talked, Einar soaking wet from his time outside and Liz wondering if he would ever decide on his own that it was time to go in.  Didn't appear so, and she was tiring of the experiment.  "My goodness, here you are shaking like one of those aspens in your wet clothes--I can practically see your temperature dropping, you know--when I've got a nice cozy fire going inside and hot stew on the stove.  A person would think you actually preferred being soaking wet and half frozen, if they didn't know better..."

He twisted free of her grasp, began gatheing an armload of wood to take in.  "A person wouldn't be too far wrong on that one, but yeah, I sure am ready for some breakfast and haven't been able to feel my hands for a good long while now, so guess it's time to get in there.”

“We ought to let Muninn come in too don’t you think, just for a little while? Seeing as we're probably somewhat to blame for his sticking around up here when he normally would have been heading down a little lower, himself. I know ravens are mighty hardy critters, one of the few who can survive arctic winters way up North, in fact, and really don’t migrate, but I do believe he might have gone down and spent it at a slightly lower elevation, if not for our influence.”

“Yeah, guess we can do that, if he’s at all inclined to come in. Can’t let him stay for too long though, or he’ll get all soft and weak and won’t make it through the winter. But seeing as he’s probably only up here due to our influence…”

"Oh, I don't think we chose him--he chose us.  You. And maybe he likes it up here, and is a solitary and ornery creature just like yourself who would have stayed regardless, just to spite the rest of the world.  But I still think we ought to let him come in out of this storm, so long as he behaves himself and doesn't get after my chokecherries!” 

“You'll behave yourself, won't you Muninn?" She shouted up to the black mass that sat silent and all ruffle-feathered against the cold in the leeward branches of a nearby spruce.  The raven answered with a shake of his feathers, sailed down to her feet and took a few lurching hops through the deep snow as if he'd understood, heading for the cabin.

Sitting there in the warm cabin, wind howling outside and spruce boughs scraping the wall on one side with a rythmic sound that she found oddly comforting as she watched Einar sitting sprawled out amongst the bear hides, finally beginning to get warm and obviously enjoying his breakfast of rich, nourishing stew, Liz could not help but think that the good times might--just might; lots that could go wrong, still--perhaps be arriving.  Finally.  Pondering it, she was surprised at how very much she found herself looking forward to hibernating for the winter in the snug little cabin with Einar and the baby, plenty of meat waiting outside secure in its treetop caches, hollow logs of fat, gallons of honey, bundles of dried herbs and baskets of berries and lily corms secure inside and giving the place a wonderful spicy-sweet aroma, Einar having plenty of time to relax, heal and regain some of the weight he'd lost, as snow piled up outside and the baby grew and flourished through his first winter...it all sounded too good to be true and probably was, but that day the vision seemed so real she could all but touch it, and she could not help but hope...

****************

By the time the storm began slacking off early that afternoon a good eight inches of heavy, wet snow had blanketed the area around Einar and Liz's basin, sagging the boughs of the evergreens and breaking branches here and there from aspens whose leaves still clung golden, plentiful and snow-heaped to branches not designed to bear such weight.  When Einar stepped out sometime just past midday to retrieve another armload of firewood it was to the sight of mixed gold and white on the ground, freshly fallen aspen branches poking up here and there through the snow.  Einar yawned, squinted at the brightness of the scene--clouds thinning, sun showing some inclination to try and come out--and scrubbed a handful of snow across his face in an attempt to bring himself fully awake. Worked real well; the cold seemed to go right through him, aching in his bones and leaving him trembling and starting to go purple in the still very lively wind before he’d finished collecting his load of firewood, and his seeming inability to adapt to the changing temperature bothered him greatly. Wasn’t normal for him, wasn’t what he typically expected or demanded of himself, and seemed no way at all to start the winter. He knew how to fix it, wanted to strip down and lie in the snow there beside the cabin until his body once again adapted, learned how to produce more of its own heat, and he would have done it without the slightest hesitation, had it not been for Liz sitting in there just on the other side of that wall, and the fact that he knew she’d be unhappy about the whole thing. No sense deliberately doing something he knew would make her unhappy, especially not after all the extra work she’d done on their elk hunting expedition. Better to do the exercise--series of them; far behind as he was, it’d likely take a whole series of sessions before his body began to regain the adaptability that had always given him an extra edge in the winter--sometime when she was otherwise occupied, and wouldn’t notice. But it had to be soon, or he feared he’d find himself unable at some point to do the work necessary to see them through what almost certainly promised to be a ferocious mountain winter, seeing how high was the basin in which they’d settled…

Beginning to shiver so insistently that it was growing difficult to maintain his grip on the armload of firewood for which he’d ventured outside in the first place and realizing that Einar figured he’d better be getting back in. Better do it real soon here, too, or you know Liz is gonna find it necessary to try and warm you up, which will almost certainly involve her insisting you have some more of that stew. Stew. Yes, the stew was part of his problem… Einar had ended up sleeping for several hours that morning after breakfast, drifting off due, best as his hazy memory could tell him, to a rather marked oxygen deficit in the wake of his hard work with the firewood, area around his injured ribs swelling up and seeming to further constrict his already labored breathing, but he’d stayed that way because he’d been warm and so full of good stew that his body had apparently seen no reason to wake him any sooner. For which there was no excuse, really--and which was why he couldn’t stand the thought of having any more stew just then; he’d just end up going back to sleep, he was sure of it--and Einar had been frustrated and a little angry upon waking to discover just how long he'd been out, and displeased with Liz, if not vocally so, for having allowed him to go on being so lazy when the demands of the day were numerous and pressing. 

Even Muninn had remained quiet, it seemed, in his absence, perched on a stout branch Liz had stuck into the wall for him in the corner over behind the water barrel, head tucked beneath his wing, fast asleep. Einar, brushing the snow from his clothes, stomping it from his boots and easing his way back into the cabin, deposited his load of firewood somewhat noisily beside the stove--couldn’t help it, really; arms were starting to give out--causing both Liz and the raven to startle and jump before settling back into their relaxed positions, Liz busy adding yet another row to the woven rabbitskin blanket that was to serve as warmth and protection for the baby. He’d thought she was done with the blanket a good while ago, but it seemed she must have had a good-sized pile of rabbit skins stashed away somewhere, and now she was adding to it once again. By the time she got done, the dense, soft blanket was going to be large enough to cover their entire bed, from the looks of things. Folding her work and setting it aside Liz rose, joined him beside the stove and brushed the bits of wet, half-melted snow from his hair. What have you got against wearing a hat, you goofy guy? Wore one all summer and didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

“What’s the snow doing out there? Has it stopped yet?”

“Almost stopped. Looking brighter. Think we’ll see some melting before dark, for sure, and then it’ll probably be a real cold night. Often is after a storm like this clears up and moves out, sky gets clear. Guess that goat hide may end up freezing before we get a chance to tan it, but I’m sure we’ll have some more warm days still.”

“We’ll get it taken care of just as soon as things thaw out a little, because it’s looking like winter isn’t going to wait much longer and we need to have all that good warm white wool ready to use! Since we already have the two bear hides and now this rabbitskin blanket for keeping warm in the cabin, what do you think about turning the goatskin into a parka of some sort that we can use when it gets really cold? Even if there’s not enough area on it to cut up and make both the body of the parka and the sleeves, we could always do the sleeves of elk or sheep hide, and insulate them with rabbit or marten fur…”

“Whew! I don’t know. Goatskin’s mighty heavy with all that winter wool on it, but would be the warmest thing you ever encountered, most likely, and I know there are gonna be days up here when we’d appreciate that, times when it gets down to forty, fifty below and we’re having to run the trapline or sit for an hour or two waiting for something to come by so we can snag it and have a little fresh meat for supper…and a thing like that could literally be a life-saver if we end up having to take off and leave this place in the dead of winter, not look back…could act as a wearable blanket that’d allow us to sleep out there without freezing, like we used the bear hide last winter, but an awful lot easier to carry.”

“Oh! Don’t talk that way! I sure hope we don’t have to leave this place, not now…”

Einar sighed, sat down with his back nearly touching the side of the stove, its thick rock wall radiating a good bit of heat but not too hot to touch, a major advantage of the sort of stove he’d built them, as those rocks took as long to cool down as they did to heat, releasing warmth into the cabin all night long, even when the fire had gone out long before. Cold. He shivered, pressed himself a bit closer to the rocks. Bones ached, limbs ached, felt as though they were made of ice after his time out in the wind and though he was trying his best to conceal the fact from Liz, he had little doubt that she would have noticed. “Yeah, I hope not too. But you know it’s always a possibility, and the moment we start feeling too secure here and limiting our options because we’ve quit believing that the threat is real…well, that’ll be the end of it. And I don’t want it to end that way. Especially not now.”

Liz nodded, knew he was right and was a bit sorry for having got her mind so set, over those past several days, on the idea of their little home in the basin, giving it, she had to admit, a permanence in her thoughts that it could likely never have in life; they were nomads, a transient and hunted tribe, and would likely always remain so. Long ago she’d resigned herself to such a life, counted herself privileged, in a way, to be able to live it if it meant living out her days with the man she had come to love, but lately, with the baby’s time drawing nearer and nearer…well, the prospect of a safe, settled existence had begun appearing more attractive than ever. Well. For the moment, at least, they had a good secure roof over their heads, plenty of food and a reasonable hope of being able to stay put for the time, and for that she would continue to be grateful, even if with the understanding that they could lose it all at a moment’s notice, as Einar had just reminded her.

*******************

With evening the sun finally put in an appearance, its rays weak and angled and hardly making a dent in the fresh snow cover before it dipped once more below the high, timbered horizon, cold setting in very quickly with its departure. Pausing in his firewood gathering--a task to which he’d returned after a brief bit of lunch with Liz--Einar watched the sun linger briefly amongst the trees before vanishing, a small, dying star swallowed by the blackness and gone. Immediately he felt the sun’s absence--thin atmosphere insufficient to hold in its meager heat for long--and responded by moving more quickly, working just a bit harder in an effort to generate more heat as he struggled yet another log down towards the cabin. He was leaving trails through the new snow, the deep, inevitable trails of a man dragging downed trees through the snowy timber, and though he was taking care to keep his paths as well concealed as possible beneath the evergreens, he knew there was some risk of the trails being noticed, should anyone fly over with their eye out for such things before the snow melted off. A risk worth taking, he had decided, seeing that winter was just around the corner and already making itself felt. Warming numbed hands briefly against his stomach--ought, in theory, to have worked quite well, but that day his stomach didn’t seem much warmer than the rest of him--Einar got the tree started down its last slide before the woodshed, a steep bit of slope upon which he found the heavy aspen somewhat difficult to control.

Liz’s presence would have been helpful just then, but she’d stayed behind, stayed inside, seeming entirely uninterested in helping him gather wood when he’d insisted on departing again to do so and leaving Einar to wonder at first whether her uncharacteristic reticence might simply be a way of expressing her displeasure at his decision to spend more time out in the snow, rather than resting with her in the cabin, and devouring a fresh pot of stew every two hours as she seemed so keen to have him do. He doubted it though. Seemed to him more than that, and Einar wished he was just a bit better at interpreting the moods and motivations of others, so he might have some idea of what was troubling her. Hoped she was simply displeased with him and choosing to show it by boycotting the afternoon’s work. If not…well, she just wasn’t acting like herself, and it worried him some. Especially with the baby’s time drawing nearer, but definitely not arrived yet. It was too early. Well. He was getting ahead of himself. She was likely fine, just worn out from all the climbing and hauling brought them by the past few days, as--if he was to be truthful--certainly found himself, that day. Girl just has more sense than you do, Einar, knows she needs to slow down and do something about it, both for her sake and that kid’s. Let her rest for the remainder of the day, and she’ll be back to normal, I’ve got little doubt. Yet he had some doubt, and it was more than he wanted to have with so much at stake, began contemplating, as he panted and struggled with that stubborn, snagging aspen, just what he--they--would do if for some reason Liz should happen to go into labor too early. Not much to do, other than perhaps try to get her down lower, and with no place prepared ahead of time and stocked with food, furs and firewood against such an eventuality, the entire thing would be rather a doubtful endeavor, even if they did manage to lose a thousand or fifteen hundred feet of elevation before the time came.

Liz was up and about when Einar freed his boots of their layer of heavy, clinging snow and stomped back into the cabin, working over the stove and giving him a big smile which he returned, relieved to see her looking better. She did not appear equally relieved at his condition, however, hurried to him and led him over to the bed, pulling off his boots and the sodden, snow-soaked socks that seemed to have absorbed everything his boots had come into contact with--not far from the truth, considering their state of disrepair. She seemed upset, and he stumbled over himself in an effort to improve the situation, would have spoken more promptly had he not been fighting so for breath, all the strength seeming to have gone out of him the moment he allowed himself to sit down. Finally he managed a weary rasp, far from the reassuring tone he’d wanted to take, but at least it was something.

“Snow’s gonna stick around for the night, looks like. I got a bunch more wood hauled down, stacked in the shed…”

“Your boots are all wet. They’re no good. Coming apart at the seams. You’re going to lose the rest of your toes, at this rate.”

“Right now? Nah, I wasn’t out long enough to…”

“You know what I mean. And you’re not taking me seriously. As usual. Now let me get your feet dry, before you freeze them.”

Einar wasn’t sure what to say, was too tired to think of a diplomatic answer and too stubborn to keep his mouth shut entirely as he probably ought to have, so he managed to get himself into worse trouble than he was already in by commenting that it wasn’t even below freezing yet out there, because the snow was still soft, and not crunchy. A fact, to be sure, but not especially relevant to Liz’s point, and he couldn’t really fault her when she exploded at him, tossing his boots across the cabin and declaring him a “thick-skulled old mule who doesn’t have the sense you were born with and clearly don’t care whether you’re alive or not to see your son born,” afterwards making a hasty retreat over behind the water barrel, where he could hear her crying softly, hunched over and seemingly trying to make herself invisible. Einar shrugged, shook his head and rested it briefly on his knees, bone-weary and too dizzy at the moment to trust himself on his feet, but he did not long remain thus, rising and making his way over to Liz and sitting there with her on the cold dirt floor, but she never did look up. Eventually he put a hand on her arm, rested his forehead on her shoulder and she grabbed him, held on.

“Lizzie, I uh…I’m sorry if I… You alright this afternoon? Everything Ok?”

“No.” She was still in tears, trying to get them to stop so she could speak. “Not alright. Something’s wrong and I don’t know what, but I’ve never felt like this and I don’t know what to think…”

“The baby?”

“No, not like that. Not…labor, thankfully, but…things aren’t right. Can’t seem to keep my eyes open these last few hours and I can’t think. Brain’s just all fuzzy and…I know this must not sound like much to you, but it’s not normal and it’s been so sudden.”

“Yeah, was gonna say it sounds pretty normal to me, at least for lately, but that’s me and not you. So we got to figure it out. I have an idea. Let me see your hands.”

She held out her hands, Einar very deliberately keeping his face still, unreadable when his suspicion was confirmed. “Take you thumb and try to touch the base of your little finger with it.” She couldn’t. Her hands were too swollen.

“You need to have some more stew. Something with protein in it. Need more protein.”

“You need more protein. I get plenty. What are you talking about?”

“Your hands. See how they’re all swollen? Face is looking a little fuller, too, bet your ankles are starting to do the same, and it’s an indication that you need more protein, you and the little one, or you’re gonna end up with…”

“Preeclampsia?”

“Yeah. Not good. Not if you let it go, but we’re not gonna do that, so come on sit down on the bed, and I’ll get you some of this stew, big bowl with lots of meat in it. Gonna be just fine.”

[FOTH]

Reversing what had become a common pattern for the two of them of late Einar finished making the supper that evening as Liz laid on the bed resting, preparing a good rich broth of goat, honey and serviceberries and grilling a few butterfly-shaped cuts of backstrap steak as well, leaving them to sizzle on a hot rock atop the stove which he brushed occasionally with bear grease to keep them from drying out at all. The meal ready he took it to Liz and sat with her while she ate, making sure she didn’t stop until she’d had plenty and then urging her to try just a bit more, focusing on the protein-rich portions of goat meat from the stew and those he’d fried. He did not much feel like eating, himself--mind was too busy with all the possibilities and potentialities of the present situation, both the new developments with Liz and the fact that snow had come, perhaps to stay--but got down a bite or two here and there because he knew Liz was watching him, and didn’t want to do anything that evening to upset her or cause her additional concern. Liz seemed to be doing better after supper, apologizing for her earlier behavior and insisting that she really was just fine, had simply been tired from the climb but her face still looked puffy to Einar, and he caught her trying over and over again to touch her thumb to the base of her little finger when she thought he wasn’t looking, and not meeting with much success. Such swelling, he knew--especially in the ankles, but elsewhere, too--could simply be a normal sign of advancing pregnancy in some women, and might not be a surprising thing to see in Liz just then, considering the past two days spent on her feet. It was the combination of symptoms that concerned him, though, the extreme tiredness, uncharacteristic shortness of temper and--though she hadn’t told him about it--the headache he suspected she was experiencing, judging from the way that she seemed intent on keeping her head turned away from the light of the open door. Wished he had a way to check her blood pressure so his concerns could either be confirmed or dismissed, but he could think of none.

Only thing to do was to try and let her rest, give her plenty of goat meat and other foods high in protein, and wait. Lack of protein, calcium and magnesium in the diet were, he knew, major risk factors when it came to a woman developing the problem Liz seemed to be showing the first signs of, and though he would have thought she was getting plenty of all three, the demands of their life had perhaps increased her needs beyond what she was able to easily obtain through her diet. If that was the case he knew he needed to be doing everything possible to help her get more, and to that end left the cabin briefly--had to go check on the meat hanging in the trees, he told Liz, make sure it was all secure for the night--and retrieved the half full jar of mountain goat’s blood that remained from the portion Liz had been able to salvage after their hunt. Pouring a good half cup’s worth of the thick, partially-congealed stuff into the cookpot he added water and honey, heating gently and stirring until the entire concoction grew smooth and warm. Muninn, still sitting on the perch Liz had made for him, watched curiously as Einar worked, twisting his head this way and that and, Einar was quite certain, doing his best to work out a way to get at the slowly heating liquid.

“You’d probably do it eventually, too, you old scoundrel, wouldn’t you? Mighty smart for a bird, and I don’t know that I trust you sitting there looking over my shoulder while I cook. Out! Out with you!” At which he opened the door, shooing the raven out into the snow and grinning when the great bird circled the cabin for a minute, scolding and rasping and generally making a fuss. You’ll be alright out there for a while. House was just getting too doggone crowded ,and besides, I figure part of your job is to help keep watch on the place during the night, make some noise if trouble shows up… The drink was ready, and he took it to her.

“Here. Vitamins. And minerals. Especially minerals. Give this a try and see if it sets alright with you.”

Liz gulped down a good half of the beverage, seeming to relish it. “Yes, it sits just fine. Probably shouldn’t even ask what it is, should I?”

“Ha! Nope, probably not. Just finish it up, it’s good for you.”

“Will you have some? You probably need this even more than I do, and besides, you didn’t get enough to eat tonight. Not even close.”

“Sure I did. I ate. But yeah, I’ll try a little sip of the stuff. Curious to see how it came out.” Feeling an immediate boost in energy and alertness with his first sip of the rich beverage, Einar had to admit that Liz was probably right about his needing something similar, the iron, especially, being something his body could really use just then. Well. Looks like I’d better be making more broths for both of us over the coming weeks, keep some always around so she can drink it and maybe occasionally partake of a bit, myself, but for tonight this has got to be enough. For both of us. Just need to go to sleep now.

Liz, it seemed, already was asleep or close to it, curled up in the bed and looking a good bit more comfortable and less distressed than she had most of the afternoon, which made Einar glad. Was starting to appear that she’d simply needed some rest, a bit of additional food after the stresses of their ridge trip; morning would tell, but he was hopeful that she’d be just fine. About himself he was less certain--ribs still pained him terribly, breathing remained labored and uncertain and his legs were on occasion refusing to cooperate, just as they had so alarmingly done while he waited for Liz to retrieve the elk hide on the last leg of their journey--but all of that could be dealt with later. For that night things were going well or at least reasonably close to it, and as he lowered himself into the bed Liz held back the blankets, curling herself around him and seeking to rub away some of the chill that always seemed to be there in his bones those days.

“It was good, that drink you made me. Just what little Snorri and I needed. We’ll sleep well tonight.”

They fell asleep to the howling of the wind outside as it worked its hardest to blow in another wave of storm--snow must not be allowed to melt, I know it’s early but winter is here to stay, will be here to stay if I have anything to do with it, the wind seemed to say, and as he drifted near sleep Einar thought he could almost make out the words--screaming and blasting and pounding the cabin, but they were secure within its walls, warm together
**************


Morning, and Liz, much to Einar’s dismay, was not alright. Her pulse was alarmingly fast when he took it, and it seemed she was terribly nauseous, vomiting as soon as she sat up and--she didn’t want to complain, but he was asking--mentioning that she had an awfully bad headache, vision blurry and the sense of not quite definable foreboding that had plagued her that pervious evening--a certain not-rightness that she couldn’t quite put her finger on--stronger than ever. She didn’t want to get out of bed, finally forced herself to sit up and was going to tend the fire but saw that Einar had already done it, so sat back down on the bed and stared blankly into the crackling flames. Einar was busy with something but she couldn’t really tell what, seemed to be rather intent on whatever work he was doing and then he went outside, and she laid down again…

When Einar returned, he had to shake her awake, gently lifting her head and trying to get her to drink some water, but the water just made her feel sick to her stomach again, and she lost it. Einar looked concerned, and she hated that she was making him worry, that she was being such a problem and leaving him to do extra work, especially with his ribs still troubling him so badly. Sat up in an attempt to show him that everything was alright, would be alright, but he didn’t look particularly convinced, didn’t look very much like himself at all, come to think of it, and she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to get the image to clear up, but without success. The strong, snow-reflected morning light hurt her eyes as it streamed in through the open door and she squinted, tried to block the light with her hands. Einar brought her a pair of the elk bone sunglasses he’d made for them against the coming winter, elaborately decorated with carvings--hers a network of delicate oak leaves and acorns, his displaying an elaborate mountain scene with two ravens circling over a dead-burnt pine--around the eye-slits that would protect them from snow blindness if they had to be out for long periods of time in the open, glaring spaces. The glasses helped. She was finally able to un-squint her eyes without making the headache worse. Didn’t want it to get any worse; was pretty nearly intolerable at the moment, and she wished for some willow, but knew she shouldn’t have it, not with the baby… Einar was speaking, trying to get her attention, and she looked up at him.

“We’re going down to Susan’s. She’ll know what to do for you.”

“But the storm…”

“Storm’s not here yet. We’ll get there ahead of the storm. If we leave right now, we’ll get there ahead of it.”

“But what about you? I don’t want you to be in any danger, and I don’t want us separated…”

“I’ll get you down there, then stay in the woods, keep away from the house and keep an eye on things, make sure you stay safe there. We won’t be far apart.”

“Einar, I don’t know…you’ve said over and over again what a bad idea it is to go down near other people, even people we know and trust…maybe we should give it a few days, see if things improve? Maybe I still just need more protein, some rest...the baby’s still very active, seems healthy, so maybe we should just wait.”

Einar shook his head, didn’t say anything but she knew what he must be thinking: we may not have a few days, not if this thing keeps getting worse at the current rate…we’ll be doing well to get you down to Susan’s before you’re in real trouble, you and the baby both, and if this leads to the baby coming early--this early--he wouldn’t have much chance at all at this altitude… And she knew he was right, but still didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave their home, walk out into the coming storm and abandon everything…

“But what if I can’t make it that far, right now? I’ll try, but…”

“Then I’ll carry you.”

“No! Oh, no, I can make it. If you really think this is the right thing to do…”

“Yes, I do. You’re already packed. I got your pack ready while you slept. And secured everything around the cabin. Let’s go.”

Einar’s pack, when she got herself outside and took a look at it, was huge, loaded down with what must have been well over fifty pounds of meat and hides and weapons and supplies, larger of their two bear hides rolled up skin-side out and tied on top, and she shook her head, wanted to tell him there was no way she could let him carry that much, that he had to split it up more evenly rather than giving her a tiny ten pound pack with nothing more than water and spare clothes, as he had done, but already he was struggling into the pack, hoisting himself upright under its weight and taking his first steps, and he did not look back when she spoke, didn’t even seem to hear her…

It was all moving too fast; Liz didn’t really understand what was going on and she wanted to stop, sit down and discuss it with Einar over breakfast, only she didn’t much feel like breakfast, and Einar showed no inclination of being willing to sit down. He was ready to go, and she didn’t have the energy to try and dissuade him, and then they were out the door, Einar barring it, stacking up rocks in the hopes, apparently, of keeping roving scavengers from breaking in while they were away…too late for bears, she figured it was probably too late for bears, after that last snow, and the thought was some small comfort amongst all the chaos. Chaos, and the realization that in leaving, they were in all likelihood losing irrecoverably the life they had struggled so to build together up there; chances seemed very great that circumstances might arise which would prevent their returning, even if they made the trip down to Susan’s safely and without contact with the enemy. Losing the life they’d built, but worse would have been to lose the child whose future now seemed so uncertain, and she knew his safety had to be the primary consideration. Still, as they made their way into the timber, storm-tossed spruces overhead and the cabin rapidly disappearing behind them, Liz wept for the life that might have been…
************

Einar set a fast pace which Liz did her best to match, following him down through the steep timber that lay just below the basin and up onto a long, spruce-covered ridge that Einar knew would take them in the general direction of Susan’s mountainside homestead, but it was miles away, many miles of alternating climbing and descent, and somewhere during the second hour Liz--vision seeming to have grown worse, ankles so swollen that her boots were beginning to hurt her and a terribly dizziness throwing her with increasing frequency off balance--began to doubt her ability to make that walk. Wanted to turn around, go back home, told Einar so, told him she’d be fine and begged him to stop long enough to hear her out, but he had his mind made up, sat with her for a brief rest and gave her water and the pot of cold, congealed stew they’d brought along, before pulling her back to her feet and continuing. She was fading, losing speed, knew he must be aware of it and was thus not surprised to see him pushing her so but she knew where it was leading, knew he’s be carrying or hauling or otherwise somehow assisting her before the day was over, at the rate things were going, and in a desperate effort to prevent things from getting to that point she worked hard to keep herself hydrated, accepting water whenever Einar offered it to her, which was, to her dismay, rather more often than he seemed interested in drinking it himself, and she wondered how he expected to find himself capable of maintaining their pace any longer than she would be.

Almost halfway there, he told her when they paused for the last time, her last time, storm beginning with a restless spitting and spattering of snow, and her strength exhausted. Tried to get up, go on, managed to get to her feet but wasn’t moving very quickly at all, found herself confused, dizzy, and when she walked into a tree Einar took her by the shoulders, gave her another drink of water and wordlessly sat her down beneath the sheltering boughs of a spruce, unlashing the bear hide from its place atop his pack and wrapping it about her shoulders, tying it in front to make sure it stayed in place. Still without a word he slipped into his pack, running his arms through the straps so it hung on his front rather than on back and crouching down in front of her, indicating that she must get on his back. Liz didn’t want to do it, insisted that she could walk and took off hurriedly into the timber in an effort to demonstrate the fact, but did not make it ten steps before she fell, losing consciousness. Einar just shook his head, checked her vital signs and lifted her onto his back, arms forward around his neck and bound there with a long strip of deerhide to prevent her slipping should he momentarily lost his grip. The arrangement was awkward, difficult especially considering Liz’s shape, heavy as she was with child, but Einar managed it, grimacing under the combined load of Liz and his pack, which together made a burden significantly heavier than his own scrawny frame, and very nearly heavier than he could bear. But he did it, moving slowly but steadily off into the timber. Wanted, after less than five hundred yards of such travel, to pause and give himself a bit of a break, lay down his burden and allow himself a few of the full breaths he was finding himself entirely unable to take beneath its weight, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t afford to. Storm was only getting worse, and so was Liz, and the only help for it was to get her to Susan’s as quickly as possible. At one point, snow falling heavily and the sky a leaden grey, Liz woke briefly and realized what was happening, wanted desperately to be back on her feet, dear, dear Einar, this is going to kill you and I just won’t have that…but before she could do anything about it she fell asleep again, just barely aware, around the edges of consciousness, of Einar moving again, continuing his slow but determined walk.

Sometimes, hours blending together and the sky further dimming with late afternoon, Einar stopped to make a fire, get the two of them out of the wind for while and melt snow to refill their water bottles, but as Liz wasn’t drinking and he couldn’t seem to remember to do so himself it all began to seem a bit pointless after a while, so he just kept going, going, don’t stop, if you sit down now you may never be able to get up again and that won’t do, not at all…

Boot was gone. Didn’t know how he’d lost it, or when, but the thing hadn’t been much good anyway. Sole had been coming apart. But at least it had been something. Foot hurt. But not for long. Cold.

More time passed, and he was lonely--not usual for him; must be losing it, Einar--but Liz wouldn’t talk to him, couldn’t, so he spoke with the raven, the two of them carrying on a lively exchange of rasps, grunts, half rational words and crazed cackles until finally Einar’s throat was too dry to keep it up, and he fell silent. Should have stopped then and melted some snow, eaten some snow, anything to provide himself a bit of hydration, but the thought did not occur to him.

Missing pieces…chunks of time, more and more of them simply gone, evening and then night passing in a blur…it was morning and he was awfully cold, wet from the snow, figured she must be, too, but when he stopped to check, her hands were warm, face well protected, even, beneath the bear hide. Good. Hide was doing its job. But he was freezing, on the edge of hypothermia, over it, over the edge and barely hanging on; it was a place he knew well and the one in which, oddly, he often seemed to function most effectively, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep going for much longer the way he was. Not in that wind. Not without something to eat.

Found a good sheltering tree and stopped to make a fire…tried to heat some soup but his hands were too clumsy, and besides Liz wasn’t awake to partake, so why bother? He put the fire out. Didn’t want to risk being spotted, not as close as they were to civilization, to the valley. Sat there for a time, too much time, just trying to breathe, mind drifting. Ribs hurt, lungs tight…coughing up blood and spitting it out on the snow…Liz wasn’t getting any better, and neither was he. Had better get moving again, before he found himself unable to rise and they ended up trapped there in the storm…sorry Lizzie, so sorry it’s come to this…

A house. He saw a house down there, knew it was the thing he’d been looking for but he was afraid and he wanted to stop. Sit down in the snow and stop and die, if that was what was coming…would be better to die right where he was than to walk down there into certain capture…freedom or death…had never been a slogan for him, an empty phrase to toss around, it was a way of life, his way, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t do it, because it wasn’t about his life anymore, or his way, or any of that, it was about Liz. And the baby. And they were dying and he couldn’t let that happen. Back on his feet. Couldn’t feel his feet, but it didn’t matter. They still worked. Still carried him. Down that hill.

Where am I? Snow too heavy, blowing sideways and he couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel. Had lost the house, lost his bearings, lost his balance and fell hard when he tripped over something very solid, somehow managed to get himself turned around and thrown beneath Liz in an attempt to break her fall. It worked. Darkness. Air crushed out of his lungs and dear Lord, did it hurt…losing contact with the world around him. Losing it. Couldn’t happen, not yet, but he wasn’t to have any choice in the matter. Could feel it, could tell. Managed to find his way up on top of Liz, pull the bear hide over her and curl protectively around her before passing out, sheltering her from the wind with his body…

There on the steps of Susan’s back porch.
*********************
Susan did not use her back porch very much in the winter, might not have gone out there for days had it not been for the fresh snow she needed to shovel, and when she made her way out to begin on the task the next morning, she was almost certain that Einar was gone. He was purple, stiff, face obviously frostbitten, and she couldn’t find a pulse when she tried. Liz seemed in much better shape, warm and by all appearances asleep wrapped in the bear hide, and when Susan began moving Einar, rolling him as gently as she could to the side and preparing to haul him inside, Liz woke. Jumped to her feet, glanced from Einar to Susan and back again, and began crying. Stopped in a hurry, took Einar’s feet--what happened to your boot? And on your left foot, too. You’ll have frozen some more toes, it looks like--and helped Susan get him inside, both moving carefully and trying their best not to jar him, knowing any such rough treatment had the potential to send his heart into a dangerously irregular rhythm and possibly even stop it, cold as he must be. Which he was, core temperature down to eighty six degrees when Susan finally got around to checking, and realized the situation was somewhat beyond her ability to handle, beyond the scope of her experience, at least, but never let on to Liz, who didn’t look to be doing so well, herself. Susan recognized in her all the signs of advancing preeclampsia, a potentially very dangerous condition that could lead to serious consequences for both mother and baby--up to and including the death of them both--if not treated. Which Susan did know something of how to do, got Liz cleaned up and warm and gave her a rich bowl of beef stew, trying to talk her into lying down and only succeeding when she agreed to let her crawl into the bed next to Einar, whose body she was working slowly and carefully to bring back up to a temperature that could support life…

Liz helped for a time, changing hot water bottles and monitoring his heart rate--terribly slow and weak; it had been slow for a good while, a result, she had known, of his eating so little and remaining badly malnourished, but it was at the moment so slow she could barely detect it and then she couldn’t anymore, his face going a deeper purple than it had been from the cold and Susan was rushing in all hurried and businesslike, pushing her aside and doing CPR, trying to bring him back while Liz did the breaths, and it all seemed to go on for a very long time, too long, and then they stopped, exhausted, half an hour, Susan said, and no sign of a heartbeat; he’s gone, Lizzie, he’s gone… But she wouldn’t hear it, wouldn’t have it, started again, stopped after a few minutes, couldn’t go on and laid her head on his chest…only to hear a faint heartbeat, another; stay with us Einar--stay! And he did, but did not wake, for hours he did not wake as Susan and Liz worked carefully to finish the rewarming process, knowing they must but at the same time afraid to overdo it, further stress his heart. Warm. Finally he was warm, body temperature normal, or close to it--ninety five or ninety six degrees was a pretty good range for him, actually, Liz explained to her; he seldom got warmer than that, these days, just didn’t have the extra energy to spare on heat production, and Susan did not at all doubt it, seeing how little fat or…anything…he had on him--but still he did not wake. Despite the fact that Susan was pretty sure she’d accidentally broken a rib or two in the process of working to revive him--she’d felt a crunch, but had been unable to stop, as his heart still hadn’t been beating on its own yet at the time--and she wondered if part of his trouble might not be due to the extreme dehydration from which he appeared to be suffering, skin sunken and not the least bit elastic when she tested it, gently pinching and then smoothing down the “tent” of skin that stood up alarmingly dry and pale there on his arm. He needed hydration, needed it in a hurry and she went to the cabinet down in the basement where she kept most of her medical supplies, returned with all the supplies to start an IV.

Liz said no, insisted that Einar wouldn’t like it, would never agree to any such thing and Susan must not do it without his consent. Susan was insistent, firm with her, didn’t want to lose Einar but dreaded even more what such a loss would do to Liz at the moment, and to her baby…she’d have a difficult enough time going to term as it was, the way things were looking.

“It doesn’t matter, Liz! Doesn’t matter whether or not he’d like it. He’s going to die if he doesn’t get some serious hydration, soon, and I don’t know of any other way to do it.”

After which Liz lay there with him in the bed, propping up his head and dripping drops of her own rehydration drink--a solution of baking soda, salt, sugar and orange juice Susan had mixed up for her--into his mouth, and much to Susan’s amazement she saw him swallowing after a time despite being unconscious. Watching, she realized that Liz must have done it before, must have done something similar, or she wouldn’t have known such a thing was possible, and she shook her head at the fresh realization of the difficulty the two of them must have endured together, out there. Please don’t take him now, Lord. Not just yet, not after all that… Seeing that Liz’s method was working Susan brought her an eye dropper and later an irrigation syringe to make the task easier, and Liz kept at it until she’d slowly got two quarts of the solution into him, but still Einar did not wake. Susan, watching him, began to fear that perhaps he had sustained permanent injury from the lack of oxygen when his heart stopped, knew there was little they could do for him--short of medical intervention that was far beyond the scope of possibility considering the situation--other than to wait, watch, pray and keep him hydrated and nourished as well as they were able. Which they did, alternating shifts so that someone was always with him, Susan arranging things so that Liz got plenty of chance to sleep and keep off her feet as she so badly needed to do if the baby was to make it to term.

Early on the morning of the fourth day Susan was sitting with Einar to give Liz a break and a night’s sleep when he began showing some signs of possibly being near waking, writhing and twisting so in his dreams that he nearly fell off the bed, hit Susan in the face when she went to help him and wanting to prevent him from further hurting himself--or her, or Liz; especially Liz, who would certainly insist upon staying there with him in the bed as soon as she heard of his attempts at wakefulness--she tied his arms at the sides of the bed, gently, wrapping his wrists several times with wide flannel cloth strips so as to avoid injuring him when he flailed. Daylight would be coming in a few hours; time to mix up another batch of the broth with which they’d been feeding him every three hours, and Susan left the room, certain that the ties would prevent Einar’s falling from the bed…

Scared. Didn’t know where he was, hardly knew what he was but knew he needed out of there, and then he remembered, at all came flooding back to him, the fetid stench of that water, lapping, lapping at the stilts beneath the cramped confines of his little cage, ribs hard-pressed and hurting terribly against the ridges of bamboo beneath him and his wrists…they were tied, and he knew why, knew they’d be back soon and had no doubt what they’d be doing to him…only this time they wouldn’t, because he was leaving, breaking out and taking the guard and leaving and before he knew it he had torn himself free, smashing the back wall out of the cage--strange; he didn’t remember the bamboo of the walls being painted white like that, and what were those strange carvings, knobs and twists and such…no time to think about it, no time to wonder--and slipping down behind it, grabbing up one of its ruined pieces, an improvised weapon…

Susan, climbing the stairs with her freshly brewed batch of broth, hears the commotion, hurried in to find Einar crouched in the corner beside the window, which he’d somehow managed to open, unclothed, shivering and clearly terrified, wooden spoke from the largely demolished headboard of the bed in one hand, a weapon of opportunity, and she wanted to go to him but was warned away by the terrible glazed look in his eyes as he glanced from her to the dormer window and back again, shaking the spoke in her direction and leaving her with no doubt as to what would happen should attempt to move any nearer, and she didn’t, instead hurrying downstairs to Liz. Turning on a light in her room. Waking her.

“I hate to disturb you, but I think you need to come…”

Liz was out of bed in an instant. “Is he awake?”

“Yes, he’s awake, he’s on his feet and clearly pretty confused, frightened, and I think part of it may be my fault…he wouldn’t quit flailing earlier tonight, almost fell off the bed and then hit me when I went to help him--it was an accident, he wasn’t awake, but after that I tied his arms at the sides of the bed…”

“Oh no, no…you shouldn’t have!” Liz cried, starting up the stairs. “Einar was…he was captured a long time ago, held for a week tied in a little cage in the jungle and he still has terrible nightmares about it, so when he woke like that…”

“Liz, I didn’t know.”

“Neither did I, until a few months ago.”

“I’m so sorry. We’d better get back up there pretty fast, because the way he was staring at that window I think he had it in his mind as a way to escape, and it’s a long way down…”

They returned to the bedroom, Susan waiting just outside and Liz entering, cautiously, speaking, not wanting to alarm him, but there was no answer, and when she eased her way further into the room, it was to discover Einar standing wild-eyed and barefoot out on the snowy roof, clinging with a white-knuckled grasp to the window frame as he struggled to keep his footing on the steep, slick metal. He didn’t appear to recognize her, wouldn’t respond to her voice, glanced quickly behind him as she took a cautious step closer, pushed off from the window frame, a very deliberate, controlled act, slid a few feet and in an instant disappeared into the blackness below. One glance out the window and Liz was running, pushing her way past Susan in the hall and dashing down the stairs, out through the front door and around the greenhouse, flashlight in hand and Susan close behind her, reaching the spot badly out of breath. He was gone.

There was blood on the snow where Einar had landed, a heavy smear of red fading to pink where he had broken through the icy crust several inches beneath the night’s fresh snowfall but he wasn’t there, had somehow managed to get up and take off running into the woods out behind the greenhouse, bloody, barefoot tracks already beginning to disappear beneath the wind-driven swirl of the storm. Liz, rising, could not ignore the tightness in her belly, the pressing ache at her back and she knew it was the baby, told it to wait, would have to wait, it was too soon, and they had to find Einar…but the baby wasn’t waiting, and Susan led her unwillingly back into the house…
******************
A fierce wind pounded Susan and Liz as they took the final steps to the house, howling, Einar lost and probably dying in the storm and the baby on the way and suddenly Liz woke, tears streaming down her face, to find herself sitting confused and terrified in the familiar darkness of the cabin--knew by the scent, a mixture of tanned hides, smoked meats, dried herbs bear fat, that it could be no other place--felt around for a candle and lit it to see Einar sleeping safe if a bit restless there beside her and she wrapped her arms around him, held him tight until he stirred, sleepily opening his eyes and then snapping fully awake in an instant, staring at her, reaching for her, gently placing a hand on her belly as if to be sure the baby was still there, still safe, and Liz knew that she had not been alone in her dreaming. Together they lay back down beneath the heavy warmth of the bear hide, already chilled in the sharp night air of the cabin, held each other until some of the dream-horror began to pass and the world started feeling a bit more like itself again. Finally Liz spoke, her voice a fierce whisper.

“Einar? Promise me something… When the baby comes, before the baby comes, if anything goes wrong, if I get sick of have any sort of trouble…promise me you won’t do anything that would…endanger what we’ve got out here, together. Just isn’t worth it. I want this life and I know the risks and don’t want you--either of us--rethinking that at the last minute because we get scared and making a big mistake that we’ll regret later. Please…”

“Lizzie, no, you know I wouldn’t do anything like that… Here. Give me your hands, I need to check them.”

They went back to sleep together then, wind pounding against the cabin walls outside as it brought in the second wave of the first major snowstorm of the season, and inside they were snug and warm, the swelling gone from Liz’s hands, ankles, a good night and the promise of a better day tomorrow…

By morning the storm was in full swing, snow once more blowing sideways to plaster spruces and firs and cabin walls alike with a sticky, clinging blanket of white, and while Einar normally would have felt somewhat compelled to be out in such weather doing one thing or another--gathering firewood, climbing up in the slick, snow-plastered rocks behind the cabin to make sure all was well and no one was taking advantage of the storm to make their way in close and prepare an assault on the place, or even just sitting unprotected in the snow and wind for a good hour or two to remind himself that he could still do it, still pass the test--but that morning he was so relieved simply to see Liz doing better and both of them safe and secure in their basin home after the horrors of the night that he allowed himself to enjoy a leisurely breakfast with Liz, sitting by the fire and sharing pots of fresh goat stew and raspberry leaf tea as they listened to the wind outside and planned the tasks of the day. Which, Liz reminded him, very badly needed to include making progress on her parka and on his, lest they find themselves having to work out in the snow with very little protection at all, before too many more days passed.

“And the snowshoes. We each need a pair, but as heavy and awkward as I am right now, I’m not going to do too well trying to flounder along through two or three feet of soft snow in only my boots, so maybe I’d better make a point of putting together at least one pair of snowshoes today.”

“Not a bad idea. We both need them, and we’ve got all the willows gathered, lots of rawhide, even, so we can do a proper job that’ll see us through the entire winter if we can manage to avoid losing or breaking them…”

“Speaking of losing…let me take a look at your boots!”

Einar handed her his boots, a bit uncertain as to what lay behind her sudden sense of urgency, watching as she took the left one, inspecting its sole and making disapproving little noises as she went. “Why didn’t you tell me it was about to fall apart? It won’t do for you to be losing the sole--or the entire boot!--out in the snow and losing the toes on your left foot, too, now will it?”

“Well no, that wouldn’t be the best thing that could…”

“Then let’s fix it! I’ll fix it, at least temporarily, with some spruce pitch to cement the sole back in place and rawhide wrappings coated with pitch to hold the toe of the boot together, but pretty soon we’re each going to need a pair of winter footwear to replace these worn-out old boots, or neither of us is likely to get through the winter with all our toes! Or, in your case, with half of them…”

“Hey now, I get along just fine with half my toes. Can still climb faster than your average three-legged mountain goat--which is pretty fast, you got to admit--and have even got my balance back now that I’ve had some time to practice it. But yeah, would be a good thing if neither of us ended up losing any more toes, real good thing, so I’ll get started today on a couple pairs of good warm winter boots for us, modified mukluks they’ll be, waterproof on the outside to get us through the wet snows of fall and spring without soaking our feet, with removable liners that can be taken out and dried when the need arises. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great! But in the meantime, I’m still going to fix your boot so you won’t end up wandering around out there with a sole-less boot and freezing the toes you do have left.”

Thus began a long, productive day of parka sewing, snowshoe weaving and boot repair that proved to be one of the more peaceful and relaxing in Liz’s recent memory, and allowed her to hope--just a bit, never too much--that her vision of their relatively comfortable and safe winter together at the cabin might still be within reach. If only Einar might be willing to continue as he was that day, doing necessary work but nothing beyond it, eating and allowing himself time to heal and regain the strength he would so badly need to see him--all of them--through the inevitably difficult winter months. And--she shuddered at the memory of the dream, still so fresh in her mind that she found herself from time to time throughout the day startling at its memory and having to put a hand on the rough log wall of the cabin to reassure herself that she was, indeed, still at home, Einar with her--if she could manage to stay healthy herself through the remaining two months of the pregnancy, avoid any troubles that might lead to the baby’s coming early or their having to seek a lower elevation for some other reason. The quiet day in the cabin, plenty to eat, fire crackling in the stove and numerous projects ongoing, seemed a good start for them both.
************************

For several hours Einar and Liz worked side by side on various projects for the winter, Liz cementing the loose, flapping toe end of the sole back onto Einar’s boot with spruce pitch and wrapping the entire toe area with nettle cordage--made by her on the spot, as they were nearly out--before coating it, too, with a heavy layer of melted pitch. The repair was by no means permanent, but, she expected, ought to hold for a good few weeks until Einar got around to making a replacement pair, both for himself and for her. Finishing with the boot she returned it to Einar, who looked up from his parka-sewing and nodded his thanks. He’d made a great deal of progress on the garment while she worked, finishing the stitching on its main body, the part that would cover her shoulders and torso, with its attached baby-carrying hood, and started on the first sleeve. The sleeves were to be of elk skin, its deeper tan contrasting nicely with the whiter finish of the bighorn hide from which he’d cut the main body of the parka, and Liz was surprised to see that Einar had, at some point over the past few weeks when she hadn’t been watching, already lined the interior of the sleeves with soft rabbit furs, neatly sewn together to form a patchwork of varying shades of grayish brown, a beautiful thing to behold and incredibly soft when she ran a hand up the inside of the sleeve.

“It’s almost done! I had no idea you were so close to finishing it!”

“You really think I was just lying in here resting all those time when you were out working? Nah, I’m not much for resting while the sun’s up, that’s for sure…”

“I don’t remember many times at all when I was out working and you were in here, but however and whenever you did it, you sure have made quick work of the parka.”

“Got to have it done a good while before the little one comes, so you’ll have plenty of time to test it out both with and without a weight of some kind in the hood, to get used to how it works and feels and so I can correct any mistakes in it…guess we’ll have to wrap six or seven pounds of bearfat or something in a hide, to use as a ‘test baby’ for you to carry around. So you can practice on it, and not on the little critter when he comes along.”

“‘Practice on the little critter?’ You certainly do have a way of putting things, don’t you?” She was laughing, picturing the dummy baby made of bear fat and sheep hide, perhaps a bit of rabbit fur cemented to its top with spruce pitch to show which end was up and add a bit of realism… “But really, that sounds like a very good idea. It’ll be good to get a feel for how things balance when carrying something of that size in the coat, where I need to tie the sash…yep, good idea!” With which she left Einar to his work, herself making a hasty trip out into the storm to gather up the piles of willow wands she’d set aside in the cool shade--now a rather cold snowdrift--behind the cabin, starting on the snowshoes.

Sometime towards evening, pale light of the snowy day beginning to dim just a bit, Einar finally left the cabin seeking more firewood, as the supply they had stacked along the back wall was seriously diminished after a day of keeping the stove going. Plenty in the woodshed still, but seeing how much they had burnt that day reminded him yet again of the need to be out and working to gather more, even if the woodshed overflowed and he simply ended up stacking it beneath trees where it would remain relatively snow-free for later retrieval. They had, of course, gone through more wood that day than had been strictly necessary and could greatly cut down on the amount in an effort at conservation. Liz had seemed to want the place warm that day and he hadn’t had the heart to deny her wish, especially considering the difficulty of the day--and night; he knew that distant, haunted look in her eyes, wished she might tell him of the dream but could see she was working to forget it--previous. Had supposed the fire, keeping the cabin at a temperature where the average person could comfortably sit around in one layer of clothing and retain the use of his or her fingers while working on the sewing or weaving of winter necessities, would help Liz relax and have a day of rest, which she probably needed to help prevent a return of the swelling that had alarmed them both the day before. And, though he wouldn’t have wanted to admit it aloud, Einar was not especially minding the warmth himself, either, found himself on occasion edging just a bit closer to the fire-warmed rocks of the stove as he sought to drive out the chill that seemed always present in his bones those days, aching, pressing and leaving them to rattle together painfully at the slightest whisper of breeze. While normally he would have demanded more of himself, choosing a seat nearer the wall or the door to ensure that he did not at any point grow too warm or comfortable, he had that day given himself over entirely to the comforts of their good snug home.

Which is why, now that the time had come for more firewood, he went out in only his shirt, leaving the deer and sheep hides folded in their corner inside to act as cloaks later for Liz, should she venture out, seeking in some measure to reject a bit of the softness he’d allowed himself during the day, to give himself something to resist, a bit of a struggle. Bit more of one, anyway, as breathing was itself still rather a constant struggle and a painful one with his ribs barely half healed, but that hardly counted, to his way of viewing things. Didn’t take long before Einar was struggling hard, alright, wind piercing painfully through his single layer of badly worn cloth and nearly taking his breath for a moment. Very deliberately he left the semi-shelter of the woodshed, then, and stood out in the clearing where the wind, though still broken significantly by the surrounding trees, could sweep over him with something more nearly resembling its full force. Couldn’t stand. Felt at first as though he couldn’t stand against that force, the sheer heaviness of the wind against him and the killing cold with which it seemed to be sapping the life right out of his body at a rate which could be measured in minutes, but he did stand, must stand, stood for so long, in fact, that he nearly ceased to feel the sensation of cold and was able to look on the beauty of the freshly snow-smoothed world around him with clear eyes and a quiet mind before turning to go back inside, satisfied if half frozen, barely even shivering anymore.

Liz didn’t even ask when he stumbled through the door and clumsily deposited his load of firewood against the back wall--she’d been watching him through the cracked door, wanting to make sure he didn’t get into any serious trouble but knowing at the same time that she must leave him to do what he needed to do out there, a small tradeoff, she figured, for the long day of rest and warmth he’d just spent with her in the cabin--simply helping him out of his wet, snow-crusted clothes and into a good dry sheep hide, hat on his head and back to the fire as he began shivering himself warm again. Which took a very long time, his temperature falling further at first as the blood began flowing again, mixing the warm stuff that had been protected in his core with the thoroughly chilled blood of his extremities, a feeling like icy water running beneath the skin, Einar nearly going to sleep in the process--goodness knows how he can sleep while shaking like that, probably not a good sign at all--and Liz hurrying to heat yet another batch of goat broth on the stove. The smell of it did not stir him, sending him instead drifting deeper into a happy, dreamy state of hypothermic half awareness, mind drifting all contented and weary from Liz to the fire to the smell of that wonderful rich broth, somehow finding the odor of it every bit as satisfying as if he’d actually partaken of the meal, but he hadn’t, and Liz certainly knew the difference, if he didn’t.

“Einar! Alright, you’ve had your fun with the snow and cold, and now it’s time to wake up and have supper with me. Or would you be more likely to eat it if I’d turn this broth into popsicles for you? Goat broth popsicles, with serviceberries for a bit of color…what do you say?”

He didn’t say anything, had to admit to himself that he did not entirely comprehend the question and gave her a big goofy grin by way of answer, stretching still thoroughly chilled limbs and getting a bit awkwardly to his feet in an attempt to show her that he was indeed present despite all appearances and ready to do whatever she was asking of him, which, as it turned out, was simply to eat. Popsicles. She’d said something about popsicles, and though he thought it odd that she’d serve such a thing for supper on such a very cold day and half dreading introducing anything that cold into his system just then, struggling as he still was from his time out in the snow, he certainly couldn’t complain. Liz was definitely a most innovative and industrious sort, and he admired her for that. And was surprised when instead of a popsicle, she pressed a pot of steaming broth into his hands. He thanked her, tried a sip.

“Guess this must be…what happens when you leave popsicles…too near the heat for too long!”

“What? They thaw out, start shaking and saying weird things and stare into their supper like it’s some foreign substance, instead of eating it?”

“Ha! No, didn’t mean…I’m not a…”

“You pretty nearly were, from the looks of you. And might end up being, the next time. But don’t guess there’s much sense in my saying anything about it. Just eat the soup you goofy guy, it’ll help thaw you out.”

“Soup’s…real good. But was wondering when I get to try one of these popsicles?”

“I was joking about the popsicles! That’s just about the last thing you need at the moment, but believe me, if it’ll help you eat more, I’ll be more than happy to make a batch of goat broth popsicles for you every day this winter!”

“Can I eat them while…sitting out in the snow or soaking in…spring for an hour on a stormy morning?”

“If you’ll let me put a bunch of bear fat and some honey in them, and promise to come back before you freeze your feet…sure you can!”

“Sounds like a deal.”

[FOTH]

Late into the night Einar and Liz worked, Liz finishing the frames for both snowshoes and Einar completing the stitching on one of her parka sleeves and beginning on the other, first sewing it together into a long, fur-lined tube before attaching it to the main body of the coat. Liz had by that time cut a series of long rawhide strips and was about to begin weaving them onto the willow snowshoe framework to create the webbing that would keep them from sinking too deeply as they traveled that winter, when Einar interrupted her.

“Got a minute? I’d kinda like you to try out this parka, if you don’t mind…”

“Mind? I’d work love to try it!” Her eyes shone as she stood and allowed Einar to slip the heavy garment over her head, arms into their rabbit fur-lined sleeves and settle it around her shoulders, warmer than she could have imagined and fitting so well--except for the belly area, where it was a bit tight, but wouldn’t be for many more weeks--that it seemed all his earlier measuring and tracing must have really paid off. Heavy as the parka had turned out, and completely fur-lined, Liz could tell it wasn’t something she would be wearing on days that were only moderately cold, but for the frigid sub-zero days and nights that could be expected with reasonable frequency after the passage of another month or two, the garment should be exactly what she--and the baby--needed to stay warm. Helping her out of the parka, Einar set it aside.

“Think it’ll work?”

“It’ll work great! I can just see myself carrying little Hildegard all warm and snug in there as I follow you on the trapline this winter. Now you’d better get started on your own--or would you like me to do it? I’d be glad to do the sewing, as soon as these snowshoes are done…”

“Ah, I don’t really need one. Mainly just wanted you and the little one to be warm, and with the exception of a good fur hat, pants and a pair of mittens, that’s taken care of, now.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you need one, because I’m not going to have you out there freezing in the snow while I’m cozy and warm dry here in this parka! Now, are you sewing it, or am I?”

“You don’t give up, do you Lizzie? I’ll do the sewing. But only after I get your snow pants done. Already got the materials cut and ready to go for those.”

Seeing that his mind was made up and knowing there was little point in arguing with him over the timing of it all, Liz let the matter go, grateful that he was so intent on providing for her and the coming child but wishing, as usual, that he might give a bit more priority to doing the same for himself. Still didn’t seem to understand--or believe, perhaps?--that failing to do all he could to ensure that he would still be there at winter’s end was, in a sense, failing them, too, and she wanted to say it, tell him, implore him to make a change in the way he looked at things--still wasn’t eating nearly as much as he needed to begin putting on a bit of weight for the winter, and that only at her continual urging, and seemed quite determined to head outside and freeze himself at every opportunity; a dangerous combination, for sure--but she had said it all before, and the night was growing late. Best simply to get to bed, for he needed rest, too, they both did, and she began her preparations, setting mostly-done snowshoes aside behind the water barrel where they would be a good distance from the heat of the stove in the hopes of preventing the rawhide lashings with which she was weaving the webbing from drying too badly in the night.

Einar had been all set to make a good bit of progress on the snow pants, but seeing that Liz appeared quiet ready for bed he put the work aside, helped make ready for the night. Figured his fingers and eyes could use a break from the detailed work, anyway, before he grew too much more weary and began making serious mistakes that might lead to the garments’ not holding together as well as they otherwise might have. Might not sounds like too serious a matter to most folks, but Einar knew from experience that the quality and durability of one’s winter gear could easily and rather quickly become a matter of life or death in the harsh climate the two of them called home. Fingers were getting awfully tired, anyway, starting to cramp up after many hours of close work and he figured they could use the break. Amazing, though, what the level of warmth Liz had insisted upon in the cabin that day could do for the flexibility of one’s extremities; he’d nearly forgotten what it was like to work in a truly warm environment--even the summer months had been rather chilly up there, especially when sitting still for long periods to work with the hands--and though he certainly wouldn’t have chosen to burn nearly so much wood had he been there by himself, he had to admit that the work had probably gone more smoothly and quickly because of Liz’s insistence.

Bedtime, then, and though she was weary, Liz found herself dreading sleep. Memory of the past night’s dreaming returned to her stronger than ever when she lay down with Einar in the bear hides, and she feared lest she end up trapped once more within its terrors, knew the fears were baseless--it was only a dream, has no impact on the reality around you, and you know it--but could not seem entirely to chase them away. Einar could not help but notice her restlessness, found himself a bit concerned, as it was entirely unlike her.

“You get enough supper tonight? Maybe you need some more of that broth, some protein of one sort or another? ‘Cause if the little one’s complaining, she probably knows what she’s talking about, and…”

“No, really, that’s not it. I just…” propped herself up on her elbow, fixed him with a more intent stare than he was used to seeing from her, eyes white and a bit wild in the glow of the single candle. “How do you do it, Einar? After you have those dreams…how do you get yourself to go to sleep again?”

“You been having ‘those’ dreams?”

“Last night…I got sick, baby wasn’t doing well and neither was I and you took me down to Susan’s, carried me a good bit of the way and ended up mostly dead by the end of it and you made it and so did we, but things went so terribly, terribly wrong down there, and now I’m afraid to go to sleep because it may all come back, and I don’t want to go back there…” Einar hardly knew what to say, took her hands and laid his head against hers, poor Lizzie, it can seem so awfully real at times, can’t it?

“It won’t come back, I don’t figure. Especially now that you’ve talked about it. As for how I do it…well, you’ve seen. Lot of times I don’t. Don’t sleep, just wander for a night or two, find a high spot and keep watch but I guess you’ve seen too what that leads to, and you sure don’t want that for you and the little one right now. Need your sleep. Need to do it for Snorri. Or Hildegard, or whoever it is in there… Tell you what. You sleep, I’ll keep watch here with you for a while, and if you start getting restless like you’re in one of those dreams again, I’ll know it and I’ll wake you so you can see that you’re still here where you’re supposed to be, and everything’s alright. How’s that sound?”

She relaxed a bit, pressed closer to him, knowing he’d do as he was saying and feeling somehow very safe at the knowledge, protected, wished she could sometimes do the same for him and didn’t even realize how very much she had already done. “Thank you…”
******************

Though the dreams did not return, the first half of Liz's night proved somewhat restless, the past night's shadow meeting her every time she neared sleep and leaving her once more wide awake and not wanting to allow sleep to come, not wanting to risk it, and each time Einar would quietly remind her that it was alright, he was standing watch for her and eventually she slept, and so did he.  In the night the storm moved out, a deep cold coming with the departure of the clouds and settling over the basin, seeping into the cabin and setting Einar's bones to aching, even curled up snug beneath the bear hides as he was with Liz.  He stirred, shivered, snugged the hides more tightly around his neck to close out the draft--was going to be a long winter, and he was once again reminded of his need to get out and deliberately acclimatize himself to its advancing cold, if he wanted to be anywhere near the usual standards he required of himself--and would have tried to go back to sleep but for a strange, not quite identifiable series of noises that seemed to be coming from the outside wall of the cabin, just opposite the woodshed. 

Listening, the best explanation he could come to was that some small creature out there was doing its very best to find a way in, chewing and scratching and gnawing for all it was worth, but then came a series of angry rasping notes, a beating of wings and he knew it must be Muninn, having apparently taken offense at not being allowed in to weather out the storm and subsequent cold snap.  Too bad, you spoiled old vulture.  I see it doesn’t take long at all for a critter of your sort to go all soft and lazy and start begging for things...well, you’re not gonna get much sympathy from me, because I know your sort make it through arctic winters without any trouble at all--and without cabins to stay in.  So you’d better just settle down out there, flap back up to your sleeping tree and give us another couple hours, here, because I sure don’t see any daylight out there yet. The bird wouldn't leave, though, kept struggling and flapping against the wall and the door, rasping and screeching with increasing volume and persistence until finally Einar rolled out of bed and crawled shivering in the deep morning chill to the door where he stood listening, suddenly sensing that the raven might be upset about more than his own comfort.  In addition to pounding and flapping against the door it seemed he was making frequent flights over in the direction of the trees where most of their meat was hung, including the freshly killed goat, and Einar took his spear, slipped out the door.

Muninn met him there in the darkness, settling on his shoulder and twisting a bit of his hair rather painfully as if to say, what took you so long? before leading him off into the not-quite darkness of the crystal clear quarter moon night, Einar’s breath puffing and frosting and forming clouds around him as he went. Dark in there under the spruces where Muninn seemed to be telling him the source of the trouble lay, too dark to make out the intruder’s shape but Einar knew it, anyway, had no doubt whatsoever what manner of beast had made itself at home there amongst their winter stores and he wrinkled up his nose at the smell of it, stopping, suddenly very cautious. Wolverine. Sniffing, turning his head this way and that in an attempt to get a better fix on his opponent’s location, his hand went to the string of claws around his neck, right arm aching where he would forever be missing a good chunk of muscle from his last close encounter with a wolverine back there many seasons prior in his crevice-shelter where he’d leapt on the creature and fought it hand-to-hand--when his spear had broken--for the precious scraps of dried meat that had stood between him and complete starvation, and he’d won, had kept the meat, added the wolverine’s to it and had since never been without the beast’s claws about his neck, but the victory had come at quite a cost. Might well cost him his life if he had to go up against such a creature in his present condition, although with circumstances as different as they were, he knew he would have to work awfully hard to corner the wolverine sufficiently to allow for such a struggle.

Not a good goal Einar, tempting as it does sound. Would like to leave the thing alone, actually, rare as they are around here, and let it live its life just like we’re living ours, but it’d never give us peace, not now that it’s discovered this place and figured out that it’s a potential food source. Wolverine has to go, but not necessarily tonight. Best will be to trap it, set some of this goat meat out for bait and take the critter when he comes back. Too dark to be sure of taking the critter now if I was to go at it the sensible way with the atlatl or an arrow…rather than cornering it and going at it with hands and teeth and maybe a knife as I’d be most inclined to do…but I do need to make it go away for the night, if nothing else! Can’t have it tearing into our meat supply. With which he let out a great yell, throwing his spear in the wolverine’s direction and coming very close to hitting it, despite having been entirely unable to make out the animal’s shape there in the pitch-blackness beneath the spruces. He’d aimed at the little scratches and scrabblings of the beast’s claws in on the tree bark, and had certainly come close enough to give it a scare. Though always more inclined to fight than to flee, the wolverine, somewhat alarmed at the ferocity in the human’s voice and already annoyed almost to the breaking point by the persistence of the raven, decided to call it a night and hurried down on the opposite side of the tree, loping off through the snow with the intention to return again the following night and finish the job, help itself to a nice share of the good fresh meat hanging in those trees.

Liz, too, was alarmed at Einar’s **ferocious, wolverine-scaring shout, came up off the bed in a terrified instant when she realized he was no longer there beside her, no longer keeping watch but gone out in the frigid morning after the storm, unsure whether the cry had been real, or a figment of her dream world. Couldn’t tell, knew it mattered whether or not the cry had been real but either way she had to find Einar, and in a hurry, before he could wander off and freeze out there in the snow. Scrambling into her boots and lighting a candle--Einar hadn’t taken any of the hides in which to wrap himself; they all hung in their places by the door, only adding to her worry as to his intent out there--she hastily wrapped the deer hide about her shoulders, taking that of the sheep for Einar and hurrying outside with her bow, on the chance that the shout had been real and Einar was in some sort of immediate trouble out there. As opposed to the slow, insidious kind of trouble which would leave him standing with his back to a tree, face to the wind as he waited to begin freezing and probably, if something or someone did not intervene, stuck with it through the shivering and into numbness as the night crept in and took him…just to prove that he could…which was rather more what she expected to find. But didn’t. Einar met her halfway between the cabin and meat-cache trees, Muninn flapping along close behind him and still making such a fuss as to leave Liz with no doubt as to his exact location and, she expected, Einar’s too, long before they ever reached her.

“What is it? Was that you yelling a minute ago?”

“Doggone right it was me yelling. Had a wolverine in the meat--you smell that? That stink’s real unmistakable, if you’ve once caught scent of it.”

“Did he get anything? And did you get him? Where is he?”

“He didn’t get much, not with Muninn on his tail and me nearly knocking his head off with my spear… nope, he took off out of here in a real hurry after that! Good thing for the raven though, because without him beating on the door and making such a fuss that I couldn’t help but wake and hear him, wolverine would have had another couple hours, I guess, to do his damage before either of us would have stirred and come out here to find him. There’s a lot he couldn’t have got at because of how we’ve hung it, but as persistent and agile as those critters are, you can bet he would have been feasting on something! Gonna get all set up today to trap him, hope to get him tomorrow night when he comes back as he’s bound to do. Whew! Exciting start to the day, that’s for sure!”

“Yes, I say we’d better give Muninn a big breakfast today in appreciation for his having warned you. He’s sure earned it. And now come on, let’s head back inside and I’ll get a fire going. I don’t even need to see you to know that you’re freezing. I can hear your teeth rattling from all the way over here, you goofy guy!”

“Nah, that’s just me letting that old wolverine know that I’m still here and watching for him, not gonna stand for his coming back and getting after our meat, if he might have anything like that in mind… It’s a fine morning, real fine weather and I’m enjoying it, being an arctic critter and all. Was thinking of heading up to the spring for a little swim, and then…”

Liz interrupted him by giving the nearest aspen a good solid thump with her rabbit stick, the blow ringing out sharp and clear in the frigid air. “Right, an arctic critter without an ounce of blubber on it, at the moment. How do you think you’re going to get through the winter like that, especially when you keep wandering outside without so much as a hide wrapped around you? Arctic critter, indeed! Now get inside before I have to give you a good whack with this rabbit stick and drag you there myself. It may be early, but we’re awake, so that makes it time for some breakfast!”

Einar went, the two of them laughing all the way as they crunched over the freshly fallen and hard-frozen layer of new snow, Muninn making little circles over their heads as they went, swooping and rasping in anticipation of his own share of the meal.

*******************

With Liz’s parka finished and hanging on its peg above the bed, Einar’s focus that day was on the snow pants he’d been intending to make her, cutting their shell from the second bighorn hide and laying the pieces out on the floor as he sorted through their remaining rabbit hides in the hopes that they might be able to piece together enough of them to line the pants. Weren’t enough, not after Liz’s having used so many in the weaving of her rabbitskin blanket and his using most of the remaining ones to line her baby-carrying parka, and he turned to the carefully cured and tied packet of furs--marten, summer-brown ermine, a few marmots and two coyotes they’d taken during the warmer months--that he had earlier stashed up in the roof-beams. Weren’t enough of the marten and ermine to line the pants, and he preferred to save those for mittens and hats, anyway, but between the two coyotes and the marmots, he figured he’d have enough fur to line the garment. Might not be quite as warm and luxurious as the parka, but that was alright. Would at least provide her some insulation and protection from the snow. By the time he had the liner-hides chosen and laid out Liz had finished her breakfast preparations and was returning from a brief trip outside to take Muninn his share of the meal, which consisted of a small pile of boiled, steaming goat chunks which the raven found most satisfactory. Stomping the snow from her boots Liz returned to the stove, stirring the breakfast pot and warming chilled hands over its steam.

“Alright, the bird’s been fed, now it’s your turn! Can you set those hides aside long enough to share some breakfast with me before it gets cold?”

“Guess my own hide’s in some pretty immediate danger if I don’t, isn’t it?” Einar asked quietly, not wanting to pause in his work and lose the momentum he’d rather struggled that morning to build up, but seeing that Liz appeared quite determined to see him get his share of the meal.

“Oh, you’ve got that right! You’ll end up stretched out on that frame like the mountain goat pretty soon, if you don’t watch it.”

A slight grin from Einar as he rolled up his work and set it aside, rising stiffly and joining her beside the stove. “Smells awful good, that’s for sure. Your collecting and drying of all those nettles and garlic greens and such sure has paid off in better tasting meals, and it’s not even winter yet.”

“Well, I know you probably prefer raw wolverine liver, half-rotted fish eyeballs and the week-old stomach contents of dead black bears…but I’m trying!”

“Aw, your cooking’s always great. But you got to admit, not much beats a good batch of fermented fish eyeballs that’ve been sitting around for a winter or two under a pile of rocks just turning all green and purple and gooey…too bad we don’t get down into the valley often enough to do much fishing. Never come up with enough fish eyeballs for a batch of that stuff living up here at treeline all the time, so I guess we’ll just have to make do with…”

“Oh, stop it! Green and purple and gooey, you say? And I thought I was joking about the fermented fish eyeballs.”

“Well not entirely, because you see the Inuits…”

“Eat, will you? Soup’s getting cold in a hurry, and I just know that if I don’t sit here and watch you finish your bit of it, you’ll be back at work the first chance you get and I’ll be eating it as leftovers in a few hours while you go right on starving. We can hear about the Inuits and their use of fish eyeballs later, and I have no doubt we will.”

Einar laughed, nodding, eating, the soup tasting every bit as good as it smelled and warming his insides as not even the activity of chasing the wolverine had been able to do on that cold morning, and when Liz offered him a second helping, he did not consider it wise to refuse. Had been having an awful time in recent days keeping his temperature up anywhere near normal when not busy with one form of hard physical work or another, or sitting mere feet away from the blazing stove, and while he had never minded being cold, the trend was beginning to concern him just a bit. He could not remember a time when he’d had quite so much trouble producing his own heat. Heart just didn’t seem to be beating fast enough to give him the sort of circulation he needed to keep warm, and he knew he would likely end up losing additional toes or even fingers to the advancing winter, if he didn’t find some way to begin reversing things. Knew what he needed to do, just hadn’t, it seemed, been quite able to make the decision to do it. To keep at it. Too much unfinished business, too many memories dragging at him, and somewhere along the way everything had apparently managed to get all tangled up in his mind until even so simple and vital a task as eating--providing his body with enough nutrients to keep it going--had become complicated, convoluted and at times difficult to carry out. Well. Enough about all that. For the moment he had enjoyed a wonderful breakfast with Liz, was warm in the cabin and had a lot of work ahead of him that day if he wanted to complete the snow pants for her ahead of the next storm, which, judging by the sharpness of the wind, he figured could come at any time.

Liz, having cleaned up after breakfast, sat working quietly on her snowshoe project beside the stove, Einar’s pair finished and hers nearly halfway so, her mind wandering the nearby valleys in whose creeks Einar had jokingly--she hoped--wished aloud that he might have the opportunity to secure enough fish to prepare his fabled fermented fish-eye dish, her own thoughts preoccupied with the acorn harvest she knew they were forfeiting to the squirrels and bears, another valuable source of protein that they might haul up in raw form and leach in the spring until they were sweet and white and nearly devoid of the tannin that made them so bitter when fresh…it would be a quick trip, a day or two at most and they could each bring back as many pounds of the nuts as they could carry, if the year had been as fruitful for the little scrub oaks as it had earlier appeared set to be, on their last visit to the valley. Setting her snowshoe weaving aside she glanced up at Einar, who appeared thoroughly engrossed in stitching a trimmed coyote hide to the inside of her future snow pants.

“Do you still figure this snow’s going to melt off so we can have a few more good fall-like days?”

“Can’t say for sure, but yeah, if we get a day or two of sunlight I expect it’ll be gone, and early as it still is in the fall--what, third week of September, maybe?--it seems likely we’ll see another week or two of almost-summer at some point before the snow sets in for good. Why? What’ve you got in mind? I can see you’ve got something in mind…”

“Well, what would you say to a quick acorn-gathering expedition down to the valley, after the snow melts, of course, so we won’t leave so many tracks…”
********************

Einar didn’t like it, the possibility of making another trip down to the valley that fall, especially after their near-disastrous sojourn to the ridge and--hunting season still in full swing--with chance of running into others seeming to him unacceptably high. He knew it was a bit inconsistent of him to deny Liz’s acorn gathering request when he’d just taken them to the far ridge and back in search of bighorns and elk--and returned with a mountain goat--but didn’t see that there was much choice.

“Acorns would be good, but we’re doing alright on protein and fat for the winter. Got quite a bit stashed aside in here, really, and I just can’t see the sense in our making a trip down there right now to the valley where all the hunters are bound to be. We’d be running a real significant risk of being seen or even followed, and you know what that could mean… Think for this winter at least, we’d better let the acorns go to the squirrels and birds and bears. Though it certainly would have been a fine thing to have acorn ash-cakes to eat with your winter stews and chokecherry-honey syrup and all. Next year. We’ll do it next year, when little Snorri’ll be crawling all over the place and learning to walk and can help sort and scatter and play with all the acorns we gather…” At which Einar went quiet and got a very faraway, sad look in his eye, seeming for a moment entirely lost in thought before taking a quick breath and scrubbing a hand across his face, pulling himself back to the present and looking up at Liz.

She was disappointed, had been almost able to taste the rich, thick acorn porridge they would have made to fill stomachs and give them a good start on cold mornings, the steaming pancakes and ash cakes and flat, dense loaves of almost-bread which they would have cooked atop the stove and spread thickly with jams and syrups of dried chokecherries and serviceberries and honey…but really, Einar was right. Too much risk involved for too little reward, especially considering the amount of foodstuff they already had stored away, its diversity and nutritional content. If they must have bread, she could make it from the starch of lily corms and spring beauty roots, and while it would remain a rare treat so as not to prematurely run them out of all things starchy, it would be a most welcome one. And it was good to see Einar thinking prudently, too. And thinking about the baby. Walking. Wow, he’s right. This time next year…

“You’re right about the hunters. With all the snow, they’ll be looking for elk to be down in the valleys, right where we’d find those acorns. Though you know, if we just had orange hats and vests to put on, we could head down there anyway and blend right in with everyone…”

Einar let his eyes wander from Liz’s rather prominent belly to his own arms where they were crossed all bony and hollow on his chest in an attempt to give his ribs a few moments’ relief, a slow grin creeping across his face, eyes twinkling. “Yeah, because nobody’d even take a second look at the half dead stick figure of a human critter and the Very Pregnant Lady wandering around together in orange vests and hats and worn out boots, frantically stuffing acorns into packs made of brain-tanned deer hide, now would they…? We’d blend right in.”

“Well when you put it like that…no! We wouldn’t. We’d make quite a sight. But with a little effort we could change that, blend in better, and I’m sure you know that a lot better than I do, me not being experienced in such things as you are. Or were. Not that I’m suggesting we try. You were right. Too much risk. Best to stay up here out of everyone’s sight and work on our parkas and snowshoes and all the other things we have to get ready before winter. Like the mountain goat hide. I guess it’ll be fine out there hanging in the stretching frame like we’ve got it, but the sooner we do the tanning, the sooner we can use it for warmth. I want to turn part of it into a winter vest for you, if you’ll let me…”

“Would be great snow camouflage, that’s for sure. Don’t know, though. Let’s get it tanned, see what we’re still lacking and decide then what it ought to be used for. Figure we can get a couple real good warm hats out of the leg areas, the kind with ear flaps and all that’ll really keep us warm out here when it’s well below zero and the wind’s blasting, although,” smiling at the thought, “after tonight, I ought to have that wolverine hide to turn into a hat, too. Like the one we had during our first winter together. Got an awful lot of use out of that hide, the two of us did. Maybe the wolverine’s pelt ought to be little Snorri’s first winter suit, though, rather than ending up as a hat for one of us. Seems a suitable start for a future mountain critter like he’ll be.”

“Yes, he certainly will.” After which they were quiet for a time, each alone with a variety of private thoughts as they saw to their work, sewing, twisting, braiding, preparing for winter, and beyond. At last, Einar spoke.

“Gonna finish one leg of these snow pants, then I’m heading outside for a few hours to bring in more firewood. Really want that woodshed filled and kept that way against the possibility of more storms, the birth of a baby, things like that…”

“Yes. Things like that do tend to happen this time of year! I’ll come with you. I’d like if you’d let me do it for you this time so you could stay in here and rest and be warm, but don’t suppose there’s any point in my even suggesting such a thing, is there?”

“Nope.”

“I knew that. Will you at least let me wrap your ribs first, though, so you don’t run so much risk of re-injuring them lugging all those trees around? You’ve somehow managed to avoid ending up with pneumonia so far even with all the shallow breathing you’ve had to do, but that can’t last all winter if you go on doing things that keep the ribs from healing, and if you re-break them too many times during the healing process…aside from hurting awfully badly…you know they may never knit back together properly, and then…”

“Yeah, I know, then I die a painful and protracted death strangling on my own secretions and only barely keeping myself from drowning at times because I’m willing to deliberately breathe so deeply that I nearly pass out from the pain each time until finally I get too worn out to keep it up anymore, and the breathing just stops one night, and I leave you and the little one alone to face the winter…nah, don’t worry about that. I’ve spent the last…what’s it been now, three weeks, maybe…living that way and breathing that way and yeah, I’ve got awful tired and wanted to quit a time or two but I haven’t, and am not about to start now. And besides, ribs are healing. Starting to. I can feel it.”

“Will you let me see?”

Einar nodded, uncoiled himself from the heat-conserving huddle into which he’d got in the habit of settling whenever the position wouldn’t interfere with whatever work he was doing at the time, chin on his knees and chest pressed against them, and let her see the ribs. Which wasn’t difficult, the way they were protruding through the skin--another matter entirely, and one which Liz steadfastly refused to let herself think about at the moment; it was too discouraging and she really didn’t know what more to say to him on the subject--and she carefully inspected the area around the breaks, glad to see that the ribs did, indeed, seem to have begun healing back together. Still hurt him quite significantly she could see--though he didn’t react to her gentle probing and poking, the dead-calm stillness and distance in his eyes revealed to her the depths to which he was having to take himself in order to keep still and maintain that careful façade--but he was finding ways to live with the difficulty, was beginning to mend and, she could only hope and pray, would continue to do so. Einar was cold, Liz could see it even if he wasn’t about to admit it to her, and she draped the deer hide around his shoulders.

“Good. They’re looking good. I think you’re right--they’re healing. So if you insist on going after more firewood today I’ll wrap them, make things a little more comfortable for you and maybe help prevent you from doing any more damage.”

Einar’s ribs wrapped in the doubled-over deer hide but the rest of him not wrapped nearly as thoroughly as Liz would have liked--gonna roast in all these layers, the deer hide is plenty, and sensing his determination she had relented, though with temperatures well below freezing out there and Einar barely able to sit still for five minutes in the warmth of the cabin without beginning to shiver, she knew the wrap could not be nearly enough--they headed out into the bitterly cold early afternoon to begin the hunt for more firewood. By the time the sun began nearing the spruce-bristling horizon of the opposite ridge, they had filled the remainder of the woodshed, stacked up a good number of branches and small, time-grey trees beneath nearby spruces for later use, and returned together to the cabin satisfied at a day well filled with good, productive work.

*******************
An early supper eaten and darkness not yet having fully descended on the basin, Einar ventured out once more into the snowy chill of the evening, coil of freshly made deer sinew cordage in hand and the past night’s furry raider on his mind, determined to snare the wolverine before it could return and make itself at home with their winter’s meat supply. Choosing a sturdy but supple young fir near where the bulk of the meat was stored, he shimmied up the tree’s narrow trunk until it began bending with his weight, hanging on until his feet once more touched the ground. Keeping his grip on the tree then by tucking its top beneath his arm and squeezing for all he was worth--hurt his ribs, half wished Liz was there to help, but she had remained inside to finish the second pair of snowshoes before bedtime and to finish cooking whatever she’d had on the stove when he took his leave--he tied the end of his sturdy length of sinew cordage to the tree near its top, securing the fir to a nearby spruce with a few quick wraps of the cord’s far end. A short rest, then, struggling to catch his breath and scraping up a bit of hard-crusty snow--partially melted during the day and re-frozen already--to assuage his thirst before resuming his work.

The two pieces of the trap’s trigger he had already prepared, whittling the pieces while sitting in the cabin near the stove to keep his hands flexible, one to be pounded into the partially frozen ground and the other attaching to the taut, tree-bound sinew cord, holding the bent tree down against its tendency to spring back upright and creating the tension which would, if all went well, snap the wolverine’s neck and lead to a quick kill when the trigger was tripped, eliminating the otherwise-great chance that the angry creature would snap or quickly chew through the cord that held it. Pounding the trigger stick into the ground Einar baited the snare with a generous portion of fresh goat meat--the prize, near as he’d been able to tell, that had originally attracted the animal--hanging it just out of reach above the spot where he intended to place the snare loop, carefully held open and suspended on a series of small sticks that he would poke into the ground. Finally, sinew cordage freed from its hold on the spruce and loop set and spread, he eased the top half of the trigger into place, balancing it lightly and allowing its counter-pressure against the bottom trigger stick to hold everything in place. Done, then, and Einar gave everything one more inspection, slow, thorough, looking for any mistakes he might have made in the construction or setting of the snare but finding none, finished.

Wild and white was the world as Einar turned to go, moon high in the sky and just over a quarter full, reflecting off the new snow with an eerie brilliance that he found somehow very exciting, life-giving, world cold and crisp around him and he did not want to go inside and sleep. Wanted to watch and wait for the wolverine to come, observe its stealthy movements as it left the timber and began seeking the feast it had been driven from the night before, be there when it encountered the snare but he knew the creature would be able to smell him, to sense him, if the wind was wrong for carrying his scent in its direction, knew he’d be more likely to succeed at his trapping if indoors and not so intently focused on its arrival. Plus, Liz would be happier with his presence in the cabin, would be more likely to sleep, herself--which sleep she badly needed to keep the baby healthy--and if being entirely honest, he would have to admit that he was, himself, rather beyond weary after the long day of log hauling preceded by Muninn’s early morning awakening and all the trouble with the wolverine, body aching from the heavy work, and could use some sleep. Sleep it was, then, and he said a quick prayer over the wolverine set--bring success to this snare, let me find it full in the morning for the protection of the meat that will feed us this winter--before tossing a bit of goat meat at the base of Muninn’s tree, where the bird waited hungrily, and retreating into the cabin for the night. Or starting to. Something was bothering him, and before he reached the woodshed he turned back, glancing over his shoulder and scanning the silver-shadowed woods until he picked out the dark form of the raven, having finished his snack of goat meat and, just as Einar had feared, hopping about in the snow beside the snare, twisting his head one way and another as he apparently contemplated the best way to secure himself a good portion of that bait meat. Which wouldn’t do at all, Einar not too keen on having half the bait gone and the snare possibly disturbed and not functioning properly when the creature showed up, but liking even less the prospect of the bird’s somehow managing to trip the snare and injure himself.

Quietly returning to the snare site he hissed softly at the bird to get its attention, sweeping a hand towards his body and the raven got the message, took to the air and landed with a great quiet rush on Einar’s shoulder, feathers glinting a dull but slightly iridescent green in the moonlight. Together they went to the cabin, then, Einar ducking through the door with the bird still on his shoulder and Liz laughing at the sight of the two of them as they appeared in the firelight, Einar wild-haired and wild eyed and with bits of frost in his beard from his breath in the increasingly frigid night air, the raven all puff-feathered against the cold and eying Liz’s pot of dessert pudding with unconcealed fascination and delight, and it was one of those moments in which Liz found herself simply glad to be alive, to be where she was.

“Did you get the snare all set up?”

“Set up and ready to go! Unless that wolverine got too badly spooked last night by this raven--and my spear--we ought to have him by morning, because I left him some awful tempting cuts of goat meat just hanging down right out of his reach above the snare.”

“Is that why you brought Muninn in with you? Afraid he might scare off the wolverine before he had a chance to get himself caught?”

“More afraid that he’d raid the bait, the thieving vulture! He was already starting to study it when I left, just staring and tilting his head the way he does, clearly determined to find some way to get at it, and I didn’t want the wolverine showing up to find the bait gone, snare tripped and an angry, trapped raven hanging by his feet or neck or wing from the top of that springy little fir!”

“Oh, no, that would be awful! I’m glad you’re letting him stay in here tonight.”

“Well, can’t be making a habit of it, but I guess for tonight it won’t do any harm, will it Muninn? Now get off me and settle in on that perch of yours over there by the water barrel…that’s right. Big old heavy critter, aren’t you? And quit looking at that stew! Or whatever it is. That isn’t yours, I don’t believe…”

“It’s chokecherry pudding, and I’d like for you to try some before bed. New recipe.”

Einar wanted to object that he didn’t generally like to eat just prior to turning in for the night, because if he went to bed too full and comfortable, he might well sleep through any commotion that might occur when the wolverine paid his return visit, but Liz had already dished out his portion of the rich, reddish brown substance and as it did smell terribly good, he figured he’d better go ahead and make an exception to the rule.

****************************

Einar needn’t have worried about the possibility of sleeping through the wolverine’s visit. Though tucked in comfortably beneath the bear hides and having been asleep for a good two or three hours when the intruder arrived, he sprung to full alertness at the explosion of snarls and spittings that came from the direction of the meat caches, rolling out of bed and stomping into his boots, grabbing spear and knife and hurrying out the door, sure that something must have gone wrong with the trap. Critter should have been dead by then. Snare must not have sprung the way it was intended to do, and the wolverine was struggling, was going to work his way loose if something wasn’t done about it. Dark out there, darker than it had been earlier in the night when he’d finished setting the trap but the moon was still giving some light though it had disappeared already behind the trees, and Einar used that light to navigate as he quickly covered the open area in front of the cabin, slipping into the timber where the wolverine’s snarls spoke quite plainly of a still-alive and thoroughly infuriated creature, trapped at the moment but probably not for long. Eyes adjusting quickly to the dimness he was soon able to make out the dim form of the wolverine where it struggled, neck in the snare but back feet still on the ground; seemed the spring-tree had failed, broken somehow and not been enough to pull the animal off its feet when the trigger was tripped, as he had intended.

Nearing, squinting into the moonlit dimness, the reason for the snare’s failure became clear to Einar. The wolverine was huge, a full grown male whose weight Einar estimated at somewhere upwards of fifty pounds, and though the trigger had worked flawlessly, closing the sinew loop around the beast’s neck and springing the little bent fir back up into the air with a force that ought to have broken his neck, the tree had partially broken instead, allowing the wolverine’s hind legs to dangle down and reach the ground. Struggling ferociously at the cord that held him, the animal would have almost certainly worked himself free within minutes, had not Einar put a halt to his efforts. Which, in the uncertain light and with the wolverine still very much alive and kicking and in full possession of all his claws and teeth,, appeared a task easier said than accomplished. Einar was glad Liz had so far stayed inside, wasn’t there to see what he must do next. Taking a good grip on his spear he took a big breath to steady himself, stepping nearer by three paces and then charging, taking the squirming ball of muscle and rage just behind the shoulder and quickly driving the spear in between its ribs, hitting both lungs and fairly quickly ending the struggle, himself coming away with little more than a series of deep, angry scratches down the length of his left arm where the animal’s hind foot had caught him as he pressed in close.

Sinking to the ground, pressing his ribs and struggling for breath as the great wolverine drew his last, Einar gave thanks for the kill, hand on the creature’s flank as its blood trickled down his arm, sorry about this, fella, I know you were just trying to scrape by out here the way we’re doing, but I’ve got a family to feed and have to protect this meat…and add yours to it, now gonna add yours to it… Gasping for air, something wasn’t right but then it hadn’t been for a very long time, and he knew he’d be alright in a minute, would have to be as Liz surely had been awakened by all he commotion and couldn’t see him like that, he mustn’t let her and then he was on his feet, breath still coming terribly hard but at least he was standing, focusing on the drooping hulk of the wolverine in the silver moon-rays that filtered in at a sharp, shape-highlighting angle through the spruces, fumbling with the sinew cord and trying to breath away the seething, hissing grey haze that had crept across his vision and would soon, he knew, knock him flat on his face if he didn’t find a way around it. Air. Just needed air, and he got it, small breaths to minimize the hurt but they were enough, and he remained standing, finally worked the cord loose from around the wolverine’s neck and left it where it was, hanging in the tree for later retrieval. Still Liz had not put in an appearance and though surprised, Einar was glad. Had the situation under control, and preferred to see it through by himself…at least until he could manage to become more certain of remaining on his feet.

Back to the cabin, then, Einar holding the wolverine by the hind legs and the massive creature’s nose nearly brushing the ground… Liz was waiting for him in the open door, light of a candle or two streaming out through it and glinting off the orange highlights on the creature’s sleek walnut-colored pelt, Einar--still struggling for breath and covered in blood that Liz found herself not at all sure at first was not his own--grinning wildly at her as he struggled to hold the animal high enough for her to admire its entirety.

“Got him and he’s…big one. Could have really done...lot of damage to our meat stashes.” With which Einar’s knees promptly folded under him, dropping him in a rather unceremonious heap into the cold, crunchy whiteness of the twice-frozen snow, Liz at his side as she sought to determine how badly he was bleeding, and from where. Which Einar found rather humorous for some reason, laughing and taking her hands as he shook his head and pointed to the lifeless form of the wolverine where it glimmered all silver and orange and white in the mix of moonlight and candle-light that mixed and mingled as they fell across its sleek form.

“All him. Not…bleeding, except for arm. Ok. Snare had hold of him, I just had to go in and…”

“Yes. Yes, I can see that you did, and must have done a good job of it, too, because his pelt looks to be in fine shape. Finer than yours, probably, so how about you just sit still here for a minute and let me tend to that arm before it can get all infected and make you sick the way you were after your first fight with a wolverine, because from what you told me, that ’s not something you’d want to repeat, if there’s any choice. Here. Sit. I’ll be right back with some warm water and mullein leaves to patch you up.

Einar sat, dabbing the blood from arm and hands with chunks of brittle but absorbent snow and beginning to feel the night chill rather keenly as he cooled down from his struggle, and when Liz brought him the deer hide as a wrap, he did not refuse it. Had to keep limber and dexterous enough to clean the creature and skin it out, tasks he meant to put behind him in the very near future, before the wolverine’s body had time to do too much cooling. He wanted that pelt, meant to spare no effort when it came to keeping it in good condition, and knew the skinning would prove a good bit easier before the animal grew cold. Even wrapped in the deer hide and with half a pot of Liz’s hastily made raspberry leaf and nettle tea in him Einar had a difficult time keeping his hands flexible enough to do the job and stilling their trembling long enough to avoid nicking the neck area of the skin when the time came to free it, there, but he managed well enough, occasionally thawing his hands against the still-warm flesh of the animal. Finished, finally, Einar handed the soft, heavy pelt to Liz.

“For the little one. Can wrap him in it at night, or later when you’re carrying him on your back on the trapline, this winter.”

She took the pelt, folded it skin-side together and then rolled it up, carrying it into the cabin where she could do the fleshing near the warmth of the stove, for the night only seemed to be growing colder as the moon disappeared, an illusion, she was certain, but a very real-seeming one, nonetheless. Einar followed, bringing the wolverine’s liver and heart and giving Liz the heart for the stewpot, but setting the liver on a flat rock near the stove for immediate slicing and consumption, a bit of energy to help them through the remainder of the night.

*************************

Full of wolverine liver--Liz, knowing it would be good for the baby, had in the end partaken of the snack, though initially rather repelled by the odor of the animal and by the thought of eating anything that had come from it--and weary from the flurry of midnight activity, the two of them soundly slept away the remainder of the night, waking with the sun to find a thick rim of ice around the edge of the water barrel and its entire surface nearly covered, air in the cabin crisp and chill. Liz wanted to start a fire, Einar to head directly outside and see if the wolverine had frozen overnight. And, Liz suspected, to freeze himself just a bit in the process, so she caught him by the arm before he could get out the door, offered him some more of the liver in the hopes that he might allow himself a bit of fuel to work with.

“It’s a little icy, but ought to still be good, don’t you think? Start with this, and I’ll have some hot breakfast ready in a few minutes.”

“Sure it’ll be good! Wolverine liver ice cream always was my favorite…kinda hard to come by in the stores down there in town, though, but that’s the advantage of living up here. Good thing other folks don’t know about this, or we’d soon be crowded out of the basin and forced to move on. Yep, wolverine liver ice cream! Nothing better out there.”

“You’re certainly spunky this morning…what’s got into you?”

“Wolverine liver, that’s what!”

And he bounded out the door before she could do anything more to delay him, without the liver and, as usual, without so much as the deer hide to wrap himself against the cold. Liz just smiled and shook her head, shut the door against the stiff morning breeze and resumed preparing and lighting the breakfast fire. He’d be back in, eventually, and though she couldn’t very well prevent him from spending his chosen amount of time out in the weather, she could at least have a hot breakfast waiting for him at the end of it. Needed to heat water and make a batch of berberine solution, also, gently simmering several crushed Oregon grape roots until they released the bitter yellow pungency that made them so useful in preventing the onset of infection and halting its advance if it had already taken hold. She had cleaned the deep, ugly wolverine slashes on his arm the night before with warm water, bandaging them with soft, absorbent mullein leaves whose mildly antiseptic properties she could only hope would do the job until she could prepare a proper wash for the wounds, and the time had definitely come to take that next step. Now if I can just get him to sit still long enough for me to take a look at the arm…don’t know if it’s the wolverine liver, the change in weather or what, but he sure seems lively this morning. It’s good to see--as long as he doesn’t end up doing too much and damaging the ribs again just because he feels so good…

Before Liz was finished assembling the breakfast soup and simmering the berberine out of the handful of Oregon grape roots she’d tossed into the second pot of water Einar burst back into the cabin, cold and shivering and blotchy purple from the waist up as she’d expected--how could he not be, spending half an hour out there working in the snow…or for all I know lying in it…without the benefit of so much as a deer hide?--but looking triumphant as he held up what appeared to be a carefully butchered hindquarter of the wolverine, a good bit of meat and fine looking, but smelling unmistakably of the creature. Liz wrinkled up her nose as Einar addressed her, setting the meat on the stone slab they used for food preparation and doing a dizzy little half-dance, half stumble as he hurried to put some distance between himself and the stove, not wanting to warm himself too quickly.

“You ever had…roast wolverine for breakfast before? Bet you haven’t, rare as the critters are around here, so get ready for a real treat! Roast, baked, fried, boiled…ha! I’ve even had it raw, raw and frozen and me gnawing the stuff off the bone and enjoying every bite of it, hungry as I was at the time, but we don’t need to do that, nope, we can roast it real nice and baste it with some chokecherries and honey for the best treat we’ve ever…”

“Treat, huh?” Liz was laughing as she watched his antics, laughing at him and then with him when he joined her merriment, wiping the wolverine stink from his hands and sinking down to sit on the side of the bed, laughing until he had to press his injured ribs with a hand and an elbow just to keep from crying out, but still he was laughing, and Liz sat with him until finally he stopped, exhausted and having to work way too hard to get his breath but not seeming much to mind.

“Good to have what we need for a change, and plenty of it, huh? If a feast of wolverine doesn’t sound particularly appealing to you, well, I can keep that all to myself and roast you some fresh goat for your morning feast, instead!”

“Yes, it’s good. You’ve done a good job of providing for us, Einar, and winter can come as it comes. We’ll be ready. No need to roast any goat, though. I’ve got some soup here that needs to be eaten, but not before I look at your arm, alright?”

“Arm?”

“The one the wolverine tore into last night, you big goof! This one, right here. With the blood-soaked mullein leaves all over it. Or have you forgotten that already?”

“Ha! Yeah, guess I kinda had, and I think it’d be fine the way it is, but since I see that you’ve already got some berberine ready to go, guess it can’t hurt to wash those scratches out again just in case. Those critters don’t always keep their claws particularly clean, that’s for sure.”

Suppressing a smile--you sure do know how to understate things, don’t you?--Liz shook her head, pulled Einar back down to sit on the bed while she retrieved the pot of lukewarm berberine and a stack of mullein leaves. While she was happy to see him full of energy and seemingly enjoying life as he had not since the rib injury, the entire situation still concerned her, he concerned her, but she wasn’t sure how to go about addressing the matter with him, wasn’t even entirely certain that she ought to do so. Best, perhaps, to allow things to go on as they were for the moment, see what the next few days brought. Other than another major winter storm. The way the wind was blasting that morning, keening through the trees and reaching with icy fingers through every crack in the cabin walls--there weren’t many; Einar had cared for most of them--she had little doubt that another weather change was imminent.

[FOTH]

Down on the high slopes above Culver Falls--high, but not nearly so high as Einar and Liz’s basin home--others were making their winter preparations ahead of the oncoming weather system, which was, according to weather reports, expected to dump upwards of four inches of snow on the town and surrounding area. While the high country had already seen several such storms, the coming one would be the first for the valley.

Bud Kilgore, balanced somewhat precariously on the second highest step of Susan’s fifteen foot ladder, flattened himself against the side of the greenhouse as the strongest-yet gust of wind tore up the slope, threatening to spill him to the ground. Time to come down, at least for the day, and really, he was ready. Had accomplished what he set out to accomplish; most of the day’s remaining work could take place indoors. For the past five days Bud had made the long, switch-backing drive up the hill to Susan’s place, working from dawn until dusk helping her get the greenhouses wrapped up for the winter, cleaning out the chimney in the one that she heated all winter with a small stove and installing the panels of insulating, cloth-covered foam which would help maintain an even temperature through the cold nights that were soon to come. The winter preparations were a yearly task, and though Susan’s son, daughter in law and friends from church had shown up to help with it in the two years since the loss of her husband, Bill, she appreciated Kilgore’s being there for the entire process, kept offering to pay him and assuring him that she could finish with no trouble if he needed to be getting back to his work for the Mountain Task Force, or back home to Arizona, but somehow he didn’t seem to be minding the work at all, nor the good home-cooked meals she had been preparing for him each evening before he headed back down the hill.

******************

Einar’s arm, though somewhat inflamed around the deep, ragged scratches and looking very sore, did not appear too bad, not nearly as bad as Liz had feared after being left basically un-tended for the night, and she washed it carefully with the berberine preparation before once more bandaging the worst areas with mullein leaves, grateful that the injuries seemed to have been limited, this time, to his arm. Seeing as he had apparently decided to take on a live wolverine at close range--even a snared one--he certainly could have come out worse for the wear. Einar had not moved the entire time she was working on the arm--aside from his body’s rather involuntary efforts to go on warming itself; a good thing our bodies do that without any conscious choice on our part, or he would have frozen himself to death long ago, I do believe--had hardly even blinked, so far as Liz could see, sitting there with eyes half closed staring at the stove, but as soon as she was done he took a deep breath and scrambled to his feet.

“Thanks. That ought to do it. Just a few scratches, really. Critter was fighting it to the last. Guess we’re a lot alike, that old wolverine and I. Kinda sorry I had to do him in like that, but he would have ended up causing us no end of grief.”

“Yes. I certainly wouldn’t have liked it if he’d decided to come in here one day…shove his way in through the door or the roof or down the chimney and try to get at the bear fat or something while the baby and I were in here. Better that the baby wears his hide. And now you’ve got his meat to eat, besides, and though it must be an acquired taste, you seem to be enjoying it…”

“Well, at the time, I definitely had no choice but to acquire the taste, so yeah, I can eat the stuff! But if you’ve already got soup going, better save this haunch for later.”

“I chopped the heart and what little was left of the liver up into the breakfast, so technically it’s wolverine soup, which I’ve definitely never had before. But it smells good.”

“Oh, sure does! Smell of it’s almost drowning out the stink of that hide in here where you’ve got it stretched…want me to get that thing outside so you won’t have to smell it? All our bear fat might end up tasting like that, if we leave it in here too long in that state. Figure I can get the first step done on the tanning before breakfast, have this thing ready to use in a day or two if I keep at it.”

“Sure, let’s get it out of here. But not before breakfast. The soup’s ready, it’s been ready for a while, and if you don’t help me eat it pretty soon, I might just have to devour it all myself. And wouldn’t want you to miss out on wolverine heart soup, because somehow that seems a very appropriate meal for you.”

Reluctantly agreeing to delay his work on the wolverine hide--hands were still a little shaky, anyway, from his last trip outside, and would be almost certain to work better if he had something to eat---Einar sat with her and shared the soup, both of them finding it quite tasty despite the inclusion of various wolverine parts. Liz--who truly was hungry that morning and seemed to be having to eat smaller, more frequent meals lately as the baby really began growing and crowding her stomach and other organs--finished her breakfast first, rinsing out the pot in which she’d eaten and setting it above the stove on one of the jutting shelf-rocks Einar had incorporated into the chimney to dry.

“It’s really looking like snow out there, isn’t it? And the way this wind is blowing, seems it might be quite a storm.”

“Yeah, clouds were moving while I was out there a while ago, really tearing over the peaks, and I’d be surprised if we didn’t start to get some snow within an hour or two. I could smell it. Looking like a good thing you got those snowshoes done when you did, because at this rate, we may not be seeing soil again before spring.”

“It’s early.”

“Yep. Gonna be one of those winters, I’m thinking. But…” he drained his soup pot, stared thoughtfully for a moment at the wooden barrels of bearfat, the strings and bags and baskets of dried berries and good starchy lily and spring beauty corms hanging from the ceiling, “we’re ready for it. About as ready as we can be, aside from putting a few more of these hides together into clothes for the cold times, and taking care of the boot situation. And the severe weather, if anything, will only serve to isolate us that much more and reduce the chances that we’ll have company during the winter. Which is a real good thing!”

Liz did not answer immediately that time, could not help but think that while he was of course right about lack of company being a good thing--the only thing, actually, that would give them a good chance of actually having some stability during the winter months and being able to stay there snug and reasonably well set in the cabin rather than fleeing somewhat desperately out into the winter woods to take their chances with avalanches, frostbite and starvation--she could not help but think somewhat wistfully about the prospect of seeing Susan again, especially when the time should come for the baby. A thought she tried to put out of her head just as soon as it came in, knowing that not only would Susan be unlikely to make the trip once the snow had set in for good, but that she’d likely be putting them all in grave danger, if she did make the trek. Tracks were far easier to follow in the snow, and if anyone was still watching, her visit might not be the only one they would be receiving.

And yes, we really are ready, far more ready than it was looking like we’d be for a while there, ready as far as material goods go, hides, food, fat, all good stuff and probably enough to keep us from going hungry much this winter, but what about you, Einar? Are you ready for it, or am I going to lose you to the cold before we see the third big snow of the season? I know you probably wouldn’t like me bringing this up, but I see how it affects you even now, before the real cold has set in…I see you coming in from as little as half an hour out there just chilled to the core and barely able to function, and the scariest thing is that you don’t even seem to notice, or don’t care, which would probably be even worse, and that’s what I think it is. You’ve got such a compelling need to test yourself, always push it a little further regardless of the consequences, that in a sense you don’t even care if you end up pushing things just a little too far, and end up dead out there in the snow. I want to talk about this with you, because I need you to care. Need you to be here for me and for little Snorri, and I know you want that, too, but sometimes your actions just don’t line up with what you say you want, with what you’ve said is your duty to us. Well. We’ve talked about it all before, and may have to do so again, but for this morning, I guess it’s good enough that you’re eating with me, planning for the future and getting things ready for the winter around here in the best way you’re able…that is a lot, an awful lot, and it is good.

Einar was watching her, seeing the strange look in her eye as she stared through him and wondering what he had said to merit such an inspection--must’ve been what I said about not having company this winter? Huh. Who knows? No figuring people most times, not even real sensible ones like her--and finally, growing uncomfortable under her gaze, he spoke.

“Been meaning for a long time now to get out there and set up a trapline or two, and with all this snow coming, today’s looking like the day to do it. Want to come along?”

“Today?”

“Yeah, today! No better time to be out and about in the snow than when there’s more on the way to cover your tracks, don’t you think? We’ll have to put together some more sinew cordage real quick for the snares since we don’t have any nettle ready right now--which is something we need to work on, just an hour before bed every night, maybe, and we’ll soon have a good supply again--but it’s early enough in the day still to get that done and go establish at least half of a pretty good loop. It should get us some ermine, marten, maybe now and then a bobcat or two and some good thick-furred winter rabbits, add to our meat supply and keep us from eating up everything we’ve got stashed away for the winter, and supply us with some more furs, too. Can always use the furs. Don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I’d like for you to know where I’m putting everything, in case you ever end up running it without me. Just so you’ll know.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll come. But only if you’ll consider wrapping up in a deer or sheep hide or two. I really just couldn’t stand to see you freezing the whole time, the way I can tell it still hurts your ribs…”

“Aw, it’s good for me. Sure though, I’ll wrap up this time, because I got to have my hands good and limber if I’m gonna be handling snares and setting triggers and such, and it’s cold out there. And windy.”

Which got him a roll of the eyes from Liz--“this time?”--as she rose and fetched the coils of prepared sinew they had through the summer set aside for the making of snares, bowstrings and other things that would require great strength and some flexibility. By the time they completed enough cordage to make the snares Einar thought they would get around to setting out that day, snow had already begun spitting from a cold, leaden sky, Einar grinning as he stood at the door watching it fall.

[FOTH]

Setting out into the storm, they took the snowshoes at Einar’s insistence even though the snow already on the ground was solid as cement after several cycles of freeze and thaw, leaving them to travel with relative ease over its surface. Dark as the sky had become, heavy and ominous with cloud, he knew they might well be measuring the new snowfall in feet rather than inches before the storm ended, and did not want to risk their having to slog back through such depths in nothing more than their badly worn and failing boots, should something delay them for the night out on the trapline. Instead of starting out uphill as they had done before when setting out snares around the basin, Einar led them down towards the open area that held the tarn, keeping to the trees and looking for the wide, spreading branch canopies, spruce, mostly, but also some fir, that would offer the best protection for their sets. By placing the traps and snares beneath such trees, they would increase the number of snowy days during which the sets could be expected to go on working without their attention, should they be unable to run the trapline as often as they’d like, preventing the snow from piling up and burying them as quickly as it would in more open areas.

Beneath some of the trees they set snares on leaning poles, bait tied to dangle just above the point where pole met tree trunk in the hopes of taking martens and ermine as they darted up after the random little bits of meat and fur and feather, beneath others setting deadfalls for the same creatures, with some of them large enough to take any bobcat that might find itself tempted by the bait, as well. Stopping periodically to flex his hands in an attempt to restore some flexibility, rubbing them together and pressing them against his stomach in search of a bit of warmth, Einar was visibly struggling with the cold despite his efforts to keep such difficulties from Liz’s sight--she’d only get after him, he knew, for not being more thoroughly wrapped…he’d worn the deer hide and that of the sheep, both, but had refused her offer of the new parka, wanting her to try it out…and would be supplied with further reason to worry whenever he took off on his own into the snowy woods that winter--but was managing reasonably well despite the struggle, keeping hands limber enough to serve their needed purpose. Inside, though, he felt as though his bones were turning to ice, feet and soon the lower halves of his legs losing all feeling, further confirming the fact that he was in for a mighty difficult winter, indeed, if he didn’t find some way to better prepare himself for the coming cold.

Yeah. Like eat. Eat everything in sight like a bear preparing for hibernation, as I know you really feel like doing, half the time. Instinct’s still there, Einar, you just need to quit resisting it, let it take over for a while, and live. Live. Yeah… he replied to himself, contradicting, opposing argument more convincing than the one he’d first laid out, eating’s one way you could solve this problem, but really all you need to do is get your body to adapt to this changing weather, and you know how to do that, right? Have done it every year for the last many, and with great success. Sure, it’s gonna be harder this year seeing as you’re nearly devoid of natural insulation, but not impossible. Just means you’re going to have to work harder, go to greater lengths to get yourself to adapt, and that’s one thing you know for certain you are able to do, isn’t it? Work just a little harder, push a little harder…that ability has been the only thing to keep you alive, more than once. Come on. Look at it as a challenge. He nodded, shivered, wrapping the deer hide a bit more snugly around his shoulders, the matter settled, at least for the moment.

It was snowing pretty hard by the time they reached the lowest portion of the basin, and the tarn, and at the rate their tracks were being covered, Einar figured it wouldn’t be risking much to venture out to the tiny body of water and have a look. Curious whether the water had yet frozen over and wondering, also, if any of the various species dwelling in the surrounding woods were still using it as a water source he approached from the uphill side, lying down flat on his belly in the rocks that nearly overhung the little tarn. Squinting down through the wind-swirled snow he could just barely make out tracks of some sort skirting the edge of the water where it remained, some two feet out from the bank, still devoid of ice, a deep blackness surrounded by the fragile, snow covered rim that had supported the weight of what Einar took from its gait to have been a fox, but almost certainly would not yet hold the weight of a human traveler. Curious about the tracks, wanting to confirm that they were indeed fox--would have been the first sign of one he’d seen up there in the basin--and see where they had gone so he might consider placing a snare for the creature, Einar rose, made a feeble attempt to brush off the soft, mostly melted snow that clung to him after his time in the rocks and started down towards the tarn. Liz, who had crouched instead of lying--the shape of her belly would have made it quite difficult to get into such a position, and she had more sense than to lie flat on her face in the wet snow when there were other choices, besides--rose to follow, somewhat anxious when she saw him heading for that black smear of open water and not terribly surprised when, after a cursory examination of the tracks--fox, indeed, and he was surprised and glad to find that the creatures did indeed share their basin--he hurried out of his clothes, across the ice and into the water. She hung back, having no intention of following but ready to toss aside her parka and go after him if he appeared to be getting into any sort of immediate danger. Like having your heart stop on you, you big goof, and disappearing under that water! It’s likely as not to do that one of these days, you know?

Einar’s heart did not, despite Liz’s very real concerns, seem inclined to stop on him, and though it did take him rather longer than he would have preferred to slow its pounding and start breathing through the incredibly intense knifing iciness of that water, he managed it at last, crouching there submerged up to his shoulders and staring out with wide eyes at the snow falling all around him, breaths normalizing, cold seeping in and replacing the pain with numbness. Until the shivering started. Which wasn’t long, and then the pain was back with a vengeance, ribs feeling as though they were being twisted, chest crushed by the iron hand of that bitterly cold water. Enough. Five minutes of that was enough, more than plenty, as far as Liz was concerned, and she eased her way over to the edge of the ice when Einar began moving towards it, relieved, grabbing his hands and helping him out, where he rolled briefly in the snow to dry himself before struggling back into his clothes. Liz did not look particularly pleased.

“You had to do that, didn’t you?”

“Yep. Checking for…muskrat. Had…had to do it! Muskrat…good eating and the coats…real warm.”

“Checking for muskrat! Oh, you’d better be glad I don’t have my rabbit stick right now, mister! Because you’re asking for it.”

“Yep.”

“Here. Have some of this honey I brought. It’s going to take you days to get warm, as it is, but this might at least prevent you from ending up flat on your face in the snow because you burned up all your energy just living through your time in that ice water!”

The honey was good. Einar couldn’t deny it. Had a second taste, when Liz insisted. “Now,” He breathed carefully, working hard to keep his voice from breaking, trembling, wanting to show Liz that he could manage it, this thing he’d chosen to do, “these are fox tracks here along the water. And if we…follow them into the timber, might get the chance to take a fox or two. See two sets of tracks here.”

With which their work was resumed, Einar carrying on just as before aside from the fact that he was destined to spend the remainder of the day wandering about half frozen and shaking as they planned and set their trapline, hands a bit less useful than he would have liked but heart lighter than it had been for some time, pleased with himself for having re-started the conditioning he knew would be necessary to get him though the winter and liking the progress they were making on their winter preparations.

[FOTH]

Muninn shadowed the busy pair all day, gliding silently through the falling snow as he kept pace with their movements, his presence concerning Einar a bit as there seemed at least some chance the bird would remain behind at one or more of the sets and attempt to raid the bait, ruining the set or perhaps--in the case of the deadfalls--even hurting himself in the process. Though clearly very interested in the bait while it was in Einar’s possession--Einar was finding the stuff pretty interesting, himself, was half tempted to take a taste sometime when Liz wasn’t looking, but had so far managed to avoid doing it--he appeared to be quite ignoring the stuff, once put in place above the snares or in the deadfalls. Einar, by way of reward, slipped the bird occasional tastes of the random mixture of skin, feathers and half-rotted internal organs he’d brought along to use as bait, carefully sorting through the basket for the perfect bit each time he set a snare or trap, fur and feathers for the cats, meat or offal to attract members of the weasel family. Satisfied with his occasional samples, Muninn kept close to Einar, coming to rest in trees whenever he and Liz stopped and watching with quizzically tilted head and black-gleaming eyes as they did their work.

Trudging back towards the cabin in the waning light of what was proving to be a very snowy afternoon, Einar and Liz stopped at the spring to refill long-empty water carriers and break away a bit of the ice that was beginning to creep across the opening, before heading home. Scouting the area for tracks and setting snares and deadfalls, they had made a circuit of the entire basin, keeping for the most part to the timber and seeing coyote, bobcat, rabbit and squirrel sign, in addition to the markings of ermine and marten. A hopeful start to the winter as far as Einar was concerned, the prospect of being able to supply themselves with a steady supply of small game to supplement their stored meat a very promising one, indeed, and though they had lacked the quantities of cordage that would have made setting out a dozen or so rabbit snares a reasonable endeavor--there was, near the base of the rocky wall that formed the dropoff below the spring, an area of small, closely growing firs which seemed a natural refuge for rabbits; the entire area was crisscrossed with track--he agreed with Liz’s assertion that they ought to return at a later time and do so. In making that final climb up to the spring, picking their way up over steep, snow-smeared granite and using the spiny, fall-yellowed stems of currant and gooseberry bushes as handholds when the rock had nothing to offer, they had managed to shake off a bit of the chill that had come over them in their slow journey through the timber, the long periods of stillness while they tied snares, balanced rocks for deadfalls and set bait having taken a significant toll on Einar, if not on Liz. She was finding herself to be quite snug and warm within the enveloping layers of fur and hide that made up her baby-carrying parka, feet damp and cold due to her failing boots by the end of the day, but otherwise quite comfortable. Wished she could give Einar a turn with the parka, but knowing how he would answer, she did not even bother to ask. Watching him as they crouched together on the rocks beside the spring--back hunched against a wind that cut mercilessly through the layers of damp deer hide, he appeared focused intently on his ice-clearing chore, eyes distant, refusing to meet her own lest she see something of the struggle he was enduring, but there was little hiding it--she shook her head, filled his water carrier and handed it to him.

“That’s good enough on the ice, don’t you think? It’ll try to come back over night, I’m sure, but if we come up here every day and break it, we should always have access to the water, I would think…”

“Yep. For a while. Think it’ll freeze pretty solid later in the winter, but we can always melt snow when that time comes. In the meantime…” He was easing himself towards the water, clearly intent on taking another dip but Liz stopped him, pressing the water containers into his hands so he would be too busy to proceed with his apparent plans.

“Enough! No muskrats in there, I’m pretty sure. It’s going to be dark soon, and we’ve still got a bit of a walk ahead of us. You’re still enjoying the effects of the last swim, anyway, it’s plain to see--look at you, hair frozen stiff and sticking out every which way from under that hat!--so how about just coming home with me now, instead? You said yourself that we need to spend a few minutes before bed each night building back up our supply of nettle cordage…which is even more urgent, now that we’ve got all these snares set out and will be needing replacements for some of them as they get used and damaged, and need to put out more for rabbits, anyway…and how are you going to help me with the cordage tonight, if your hands are no better than big blocks of ice by the time we get back?”

Einar was laughing--meant to say something about using his toes, instead, to make the cordage if his hands got too cold, but had thought better of it seeing as he only possessed five of the latter, and them every bit as stiff and insensible as his fingers at the moment--scooting back away from the ice and getting stiffly to his feet. Still wanted to test himself once more in the water before heading in for the night but was willing to concede that Liz did indeed have a point. Better perhaps that he allow himself to remain useful for the cordage work, return to the spring in the morning.

“Yeah, I’ll come on home. Lot to do tonight and guess I need to get rested up, anyway, because I’m kinda curious to see if these snares produce anything overnight. If it stops snowing, that is. Nothing much is likely be out in this weather, not the way it’s blowing and piling up and all. Traps ought to be alright for a while though, the way we tucked them in under the trees. Take one major storm to snow or drift them under!”

“Is this a sign of a harsh winter to come, do you think? This early snow?”

“Oh, hard to tell. Sometimes you’ll get a few big ones like this at the start of the season and then almost nothing for a month or two, other times…well, it just doesn’t quit. But that’s alright. Let it come! Need to get us some more firewood hauled in, just as a cushion against hard times of one sort or another, you know, and we’ll be all ready for it. Ready as we can be, anyhow.”

“Yes,” she answered, but her eyes were dark, concerned there amongst the ermine-fur frame of her parka hood, and Einar hoisted his pack back into place, took the water containers and started down the trail, supposing that she must be anxious to settle down in the windless warmth of the cabin after their long day out on the trapline. Which she was, of course, though even more anxious to get Einar home and out of his wet wraps. And perhaps coax him into starting work on a parka of his own, or allowing her to do it for him.

The cabin was decidedly not warm when finally, half blinded by snow driven nearly sideways by an increasingly wild evening wind, they stumbled in through the door, fire having died hours before, stove-stones releasing the last of their warmth into the still, chill air, and Liz hurried to bring the fire back to life while Einar hung the remaining bait high in one of their cache-trees and tossed a few scraps to Muninn. He was greeted upon returning inside by the meager but growing warmth of the newly rekindled fire, Liz hovering over it as she prepared one of the wolverine haunches to be roasted for their supper. Shedding his layers of damp and partially frozen deer and sheep hides, he joined her.

“Getting pretty brave tonight, it looks like?”

“Well, if you can eat it I can eat it, and though I’m still not convinced that it’s going to taste any better than it smells, the liver was alright, and I’m prepared to find out!”