Anyi’s father did not wake up.
They left him there, propped up against the rock, his body covered in a light layer of snow. Anyi did not cry. He no longer had any tears. He no longer felt the cold. Everything ached, despite the blanket The White One gave him, despite the drink that warmed his belly but never his bones. He no longer cared.
They trudged on in silence. It snowed. It snowed some more. And then it didn’t. When the path ended in cliffs or boulders, they climbed. Anyi said he was hungry. The White One gave him bites of dried fish. Once, they were stalked by a wolf. The White One used his weapon to kill it, then they skinned the carcass and Anyi wrapped the fur around his numb feet, draped it over his shivering shoulders. The White One wouldn’t let him start a fire to cook the
