Page 62

Thirty-Six

The temperature was falling quickly now as the sun sank below the mountains, and the fast-running stream was cast into shadow.

The forest fell quiet, the sounds of small creatures in the undergrowth replaced by the mournful sound of the wind, whistling as it whipped between the spruce trees.

A red deer appeared at the water’s edge—a young female, dappled on her haunches.

She sniffed the air cautiously, then bent her head to drink.

At the top of the falls, two figures stumbled to their feet—a man and a woman, exhausted beyond measure. Below them, a black-clad figure lay sprawled across the rocks, her body limp.

There in the deepening twilight, the gray woman watched it all—the stream, the deer, the man and woman, brushing themselves off as they staggered forward.

Already she was starting to fade, going fuzzy at the edges.

Already she was forgetting. She was sure just moments ago she’d been warm and solid, but now that felt like a distant memory.

Now she felt like a curl of cold mist, just before it’s blown away.

She didn’t mind. This place was nice. Pretty.

She’d have liked to stay a little longer, but she was sure there was somewhere else she was meant to be.

She could feel herself being pulled there, little by little.

Just a little longer, please.

She watched the young woman’s face as she made her way back up the mountain, and felt a sharp slice of something familiar that stuck in her chest; a deep, aching feeling like a bruise on her heart.

It reminded her of something someone had once told her, or maybe it was something she had once said to someone else—something about birds. She wished she could remember.

Just then, a rabbit came darting out of the underbrush, startling the deer. The young woman heard it, too, and turned, almost as if someone had called her name. For a moment, she and the deer looked the same—still, silent, and alert. Both so young, and yet already so accustomed to danger.

The young woman stood and stared for a long time at the space where the gray woman was disappearing into the trees, but did not see her.

Why do birds sing in the morning, little dove?

That was it, she remembered now, even as she began to feel more and more of herself slip from this place to that one, even as she blew away like mist. She couldn’t see the trees anymore, or the deer, didn’t see the black-clad figure on the rocks begin to stir, the chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

She felt herself slowly seeping out of the world until there was nothing left but shadows, but in that moment of perfect peace, Miriam remembered. She remembered everything.

To let each other know they’ve made it safely through the night.