Page 31

Winter left at dawn, just as the first traces of sunlight touched the horizon.

He was in a bad mood, barely looking at me, probably feeling guilty because he hadn’t found anything.

I glanced at the pile of branches he had brought back yesterday, still stacked beside the fire. My uncle Victor had told me that tree phloem, when ground down, could be used as flour.

So I sat by the fire and got to work.

I grabbed a few rough stones and used them to strip the bark from the branches, since the outer layer wasn’t worth much. Too bitter, not enough nutrients. Then, placing some of the inner bark between two rocks, I started grinding it down. It wasn’t easy work. After a long effort, I had only a tiny pile, maybe half a cup’s worth.

I tried soaking some of it and tossing it into a can, but the mush looked so pathetic that either Winter or I could have eaten it in just two bites.

I clenched my jaw and kept going, grinding down more bark despite the ache in my hands. Still, the results weren’t great, the pile grew only slightly.

Moving carefully on all fours, I crawled to the cave entrance. Yesterday, I had done the same thing to climb a little higher up the slope to collect snow. Up there, further from the warm stream, patches of grass still poked through, some of it reddish-brown, some still green.

I knew grass contained silica, but its roots might have some starch.

So, I started digging.

It was tedious. The ground was rock-hard, and the roots were stubborn.

It took me half an hour just to tear out a few tufts.

Back at the stream, I washed them carefully, stripped off the roots, and used a stone to crush them into a paste. Then, I mixed them with the ground bark, kneading them together.

The color wasn’t appealing, but at least now, it looked like something.

A flatbread roll. Maybe a thick pancake?

I placed the mixture on an even stone and rekindled the fire with the remaining branches and pieces of bark.

Without oil, I knew my ‘pancake’ would burn fast, so I watched it closely, flipping it quickly whenever it darkened too much.

It browned slightly.

And that would have to be enough.

The sun was already high in the sky when Winter finally returned, carrying two clams. I greeted the sight with pure joy.

"Oh, fantastic news! I see you’ve got two!" I beamed at him.

He responded with a weak smile. "Both are for you. I already ate."

"You already ate?"

He nodded quickly and placed the clams on the warm stone.

I watched him for a moment, sensing that something wasn’t right. Had Winter lied?

"Winter, are you sure you ate those clams?"

"Yeah, I had two. These are for you, enjoy," he muttered, then started stripping down to get into our warm little pool.

I saw how pale he was, how his hands trembled, and how his feet were wrinkled and swollen from the water.

"Winter, I made a little pancake… or bread roll, whatever you want to call it—out of tree bark and a bit of grass roots."

"Eat it. I already filled up on clams."

I clenched my jaw in frustration. "No way!" I huffed. "I didn’t spend two hours grinding bark into flour and yanking out roots for us not to share!"

I used my file to split the pancake in two, then crawled over to him. He was already submerged in the water, but I leaned over the edge and handed him a small stone with his portion on it.

"It’s at least some fiber."

His hungry eyes locked onto the pancake. It was about two inches long and an inch and a half wide, not much. He tilted the stone to his lips and devoured it in two ravenous bites. I ate my half as well. My stomach was practically glued to my spine, but I could only imagine how Winter felt, constantly burning calories, wading through freezing water. He needed food way more than I did.

The pancake didn’t taste great. It was bitter and smelled like grass and pine needles, nothing special, but the feeling of food sliding down my throat was divine.

"Winter, you shouldn’t stay in the water too long. Your feet are pruney."

"I’ll get out soon, I just need to warm up," he murmured.

I turned back to the clams, which had heated up a bit. I pried them open and devoured them, feeling like I was eating the food of the gods.

"These are amazing. I think I might become a seafood fan," I murmured, glancing over at Winter.

He wasn’t looking at me. He sat motionless in the hot water, still pale.

I set the empty shells aside and returned to the mattress.

"Come here, Winter. Let’s warm up together. Your feet are seriously in bad shape, if an infection sets in, it could get dangerous."

Eventually, he got out of the water, dried off, and lay down beside me. I saw how his stomach was even flatter than before—almost sunken in. He’d always been lean, but now he looked concave.

We rested together, and I wrapped my arms around him. He responded by tucking his head into my neck.

Then, out of nowhere, he whispered, "We’re going to die here, Sariel. This place is nothing but a dead, snow-covered rock. We’re not going to make it."

I pulled him closer. "Winter, don’t give up. Please. I know you’re exhausted, but let me go out tomorrow and look for clams. Maybe—"

"No! Your leg… You just sprained it a few days ago. There’s no way it’s healed enough. If you push yourself too soon, you’ll make it worse. If there’s ligament damage, putting weight on it could tear it further, or inflame it—"

"It hurts less than before."

"I don’t care. I’m not lying here in a cave while you limp around on the beach," he said firmly.

"Winter, I’m telling you, your feet are a mess. You could get an infection."

He didn’t answer.

"You’re not going anywhere today. Just rest, stay off your feet." I knew it was only midday, which meant a long, hungry afternoon and an even longer night, but I couldn’t let him go back out.

"Fine…" His voice was barely a whisper. "By morning, I’ll feel better. My feet will be dry again."

He pressed himself against me, and soon we both drifted into a restless sleep, clinging to each other as tightly as possible—like our bodies were the last fragile thread keeping us alive.