—”
Bang.
The sound of a rifle shot makes us both jump. Birds start out of the trees behind Julian, temporarily darkening the sky all at once, before dispersing into individual shapes. Someone says, “Damn.”
Dani and Alex emerge from the trees beyond the tents. Both of them have rifles slung across their shoulders.
Gordo straightens up.
“Deer?” he asks. The light is nearly all gone. Alex’s hair looks almost black.
“Too big for a deer,” Dani says. She is a large woman, broad across the shoulders with a wide, flat forehead and almond-eyes. She reminds me of Miyako, who died before we went south last winter. We burned her on a frigid day, just before the first snow.
“Bear?” Gordo asks.
“Might have been,” Dani replies shortly. Dani is harder-edged than Miyako was: She has let the Wilds whittle her down, carve her to steel.
“Did you hit it?” I ask, too eager, though I already know the answer. But I am willing Alex to look at me, to speak to me.
“Might have just clipped it,” Dani says. “Hard to tell. Not enough to stop it, though.”
Alex says nothing, doesn’t register my presence, even. He keeps walking, threading his way through the tents, past Julian and me, close enough that I imagine I can smell him—the old smell of grass and sun-dried wood, a Portland smell that makes me want to cry out, and bury my face in his chest, and inhale.
Then he is heading down the embankment as Raven’s voice floats up to us: “Dinner’s on. Eat up or miss out.” “Come on.” Julian grazes my elbow with his fingertips. Gentle, patient.
My feet turn me, and move me down the embankment, toward the fire, which is now burning hot and strong; toward the boy who becomes shadow standing next to it, blotted out by the smoke. That is what Alex is now: a shadow-bo
Bang.
The sound of a rifle shot makes us both jump. Birds start out of the trees behind Julian, temporarily darkening the sky all at once, before dispersing into individual shapes. Someone says, “Damn.”
Dani and Alex emerge from the trees beyond the tents. Both of them have rifles slung across their shoulders.
Gordo straightens up.
“Deer?” he asks. The light is nearly all gone. Alex’s hair looks almost black.
“Too big for a deer,” Dani says. She is a large woman, broad across the shoulders with a wide, flat forehead and almond-eyes. She reminds me of Miyako, who died before we went south last winter. We burned her on a frigid day, just before the first snow.
“Bear?” Gordo asks.
“Might have been,” Dani replies shortly. Dani is harder-edged than Miyako was: She has let the Wilds whittle her down, carve her to steel.
“Did you hit it?” I ask, too eager, though I already know the answer. But I am willing Alex to look at me, to speak to me.
“Might have just clipped it,” Dani says. “Hard to tell. Not enough to stop it, though.”
Alex says nothing, doesn’t register my presence, even. He keeps walking, threading his way through the tents, past Julian and me, close enough that I imagine I can smell him—the old smell of grass and sun-dried wood, a Portland smell that makes me want to cry out, and bury my face in his chest, and inhale.
Then he is heading down the embankment as Raven’s voice floats up to us: “Dinner’s on. Eat up or miss out.” “Come on.” Julian grazes my elbow with his fingertips. Gentle, patient.
My feet turn me, and move me down the embankment, toward the fire, which is now burning hot and strong; toward the boy who becomes shadow standing next to it, blotted out by the smoke. That is what Alex is now: a shadow-bo
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