A new layer of blisters formed on the surface of my palms like tainted bubbles, before popping again. The wooden handle of the scythe I used to get through the first row of the wilted cornstalks was covered in a fresh coat of blood and pus.

But I welcomed the fierce stinging and burning sensation in my body. If I closed my eyes and stood real still, I could hear the faint sound of people. Too many times, I lingered around that line in the dirt in the next couple of days in the pouring rain. Regardless of how often I attempted to distract myself, its texture was visible to me in its melted thick surface, sticking out like a sore thumb. And after being swallowed in several nightmares and seeing the faces of those whose lives I had destroyed--Toku, Kia, Hagar, Honda-- sleep hardly came to me. Their deaths were present in the dreams that awaited me; their blood that had spilled on the ground reached out and dragged me deeper into the darkness. I had several reoccurring night terrors of Honda’s corpse rotting away in the woods, being eaten and torn apart by soldiers and rats. I tried to fight them all and get them off her, but my arms and legs were worthless and slow. They kept biting and swallowing her flesh and skin in ribboned chunks. I awoke writhing in a pool of blood, frost, and vomit consisting of what little I had eaten that day, coughing and sobbing hysterically.

To avoid these dreams, I would chip at the edge of the field all night until my shoulders were on fire and my shirt was drenched in sweat as the morning sun came up. The soft wind caused the stalks to bend and sway. When the first golden hues of light dripped on the edge of the purple mountains and trees and valleys, the silence made the crisp cold air heavier. And for many days straight it heavily rained.

I tore off pieces of bread from my satchel each evening after working in the cornfields, shivering and soaking wet. My bare feet caused the crooked floorboards to heavily creak with each step I took. When I placed the food down on the floor in the dark shed with my shaking hands, frost grew on its walls, white coating spreading over brown. The wounds I had healed relatively fast and I didn't need the bandages anymore, though the soreness lingered in my joints. Yet my hipbones had begun to jut out due to the great deal of weight I had lost; my ribs were visible through my skin with each rattled breath I drew in.

Once in a while, though not too often, I could make out the shadow of the squirrel coming in, feasting on the unexpected treat. As I laid my head against the wooden floor, resting on my side and listening to the rain pouring outside, squeaks came from the corner. I watched its figure with one eye behind my hair and slowly held out a hand with a large chunk of bread. To my dismay, when I sat up, it began to scurry away.

”Oh no, please don’t go.” My weak whispers were the only sound in the dark, quiet shed. “Please. Won’t you stay for a moment?”

The moonlight spilled through the small holes in the slanted roof above.

”Please.”

The squeaking faded. Piles of ripe corn ears rested on top of the shaggy and worn out brims set directly behind the strongly visible line in the ground. With what little bread I had left, I left another large handful of crumbs in my shed, scattering it across the floor with hopes that the little guy might come back another day. Between the floorboards, my dirty fingers slowly lifted up a piece of bread it had dropped. I cradled it in my hands, a pearl of moisture escaping down my nose.

* * * * * * *

I stared at the line.

I had tried so hard to not look at it. But the draining silence, the sleepless nights when I would silently curl up in a ball in the dark; it made it more impossible not to. I was completely sure I had lost my mind several times, going through deep fits of rage in which I froze everything I touched. I destroyed trees until they were splintered piles, creating massive craters in the soil with splintered chunks of frozen wood scattered everywhere. Nor could I handle the voices that crowded my head day and night, the memories of those I once knew and murdered, the fact that there was no one to share anything with, to laugh with, to whisper I love you in their ear or kiss and hold them close to listen to their heartbeat.

Despite trying to distract myself with a million other things, I found myself standing at the edge, my toes just inches away from the mark that George had drawn into the dirt. For hours I paced back and forth and sat down against a tree, burying my face on my arms, digging my fingernails into my scalp until it bled. Beads of sweat gathered on the lines on my forehead and pooled around my protruding collarbones. I wondered then, if it were possible to be so lonely. Being hated was better than being unseen, unheard, unable to reach out to anyone. The urge to rush out to the village and cause others to scream and flee seemed more feasible, because it would at least would provide me a brief moment of human interaction. Even for a second.

I longed to hear people walking nearby, maybe see worn footprints in the dirt, but no such thing occurred. I talked to spiders and ants crawling on the shed wall. Focusing on labor did nothing to ease the aching loneliness that was eating at me each day; the vast field was as empty as ever. I spent most mornings gazing at my reflection at a nearby stream with my head low; minnows swam around my muddy toes and ankles. A sharp pulsation beat against my temples and my lungs were like deflated balloons. I limped to that line for the hundredth time and I just need to see someone’s face, hear a voice. Strands of hair fell over my face as I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to push the tempting thoughts away. But the idea of enduring another day of loneliness weakened my legs and made me collapse to ground. My knees dug into the mud, fingertips sinking further and further until the force of the liquid surrounded me, wrapped around me and protruded in the sky. The metallic, warm taste of blood leaked into my mouth and melted into my tongue like demented ice cream. When I rushed out into the air and swung from tree to tree, creating thick slopes of snow, a thin line of frost fell behind me and crawled on the line in the dirt. I tried to not process what I had just done; but I tried to assure myself that if I could only see one person, perhaps, I would soon return back to the cornfields in no time.

I wouldn’t be long.

The blue light illuminated my fingertips; an ice slope formed under my touch, webbed cracks spreading across its surface, ready to break off at its edges. Something was screaming at me to stop, to turn back. The moment I pushed back a tree branch with my hand, I was in a trance. The bustling sound of men chopping down trees and carrying lumber on their shoulders echoed in the valley, with women scrubbing laundry against washing bats with raw pink hands and children laughing and playing, some chewing on sugar cane and coconut. A faint smile slowly gathered on my blistered, cracked lips. The noise was a welcomed change from the heavy silence I had grown accustomed to over the lonely weeks.

Bending over, I smeared a great deal of soil and soft clay on my filthy face, then my arms and legs. With one swift motion, I broke off a tree limb as an aid for a walking stick, flinching at the sight of the frost already spreading from my fingertips to the bark. I spied an abandoned, torn up blanket half buried in a pile of leaves in a ditch and threw it on top of my shoulders to resemble a cloak. After untying my matted hair I let it fall over my face, back and shoulders like a curtain, trying to not look at myself in the reflection of a nearby puddle.

* * * * * *

My hands shook as I began to leave the woods behind, dried moss freezing under my bare feet with each step I took. I stumbled blindly forward, as if I were learning to walk for the first time. The villagers' voices grew louder, and the bleating sound of goats and sheep filled my ears as I got closer. And closer. My heart was thudding so bad in my chest I wondered if it was going to free itself and pop out. For the first time, I was able to see what the village looked like up close. The sensation was odd, but blissful, and I held my breath in awe at the sight.

No one seemed to glance in my direction; they were too busy, occupied, moving and rushing by as fast as they could. A few boys who were playing with bamboo sticks nearby saw my shadow and slowly backed away, before running off, startled. After watching them flee with an ache in my chest, I made sure to keep my head low as to not make eye contact with anyone. Took one slow step at a time, drinking in all of the loudness and chaos, my back hunched and stooped over with the blanket pulled over my head like a hood.

But try as I might, I could not stop staring at what was around me. It was then that I could truly see how beautiful their clothing was, elaborate patterns sewn into the fabric they wore. I deeply wondered if Honda's home had been like this. The way that their huts were constructed with the simple materials that the earth had gifted to them: bamboo, mud, straw. Their cone shaped roofs touched the sky above, and the fresh scent of roasted rabbit and okra tickled my nose. Smoke from several small fires filled the air; a woman was dancing to the sound of a drum being played and swaying her hips to the rhythm. An old man with a long white beard led a crowd of squawking brown and white chickens, his back twisted with age. Two others hauled water out of a freshly dug hole in the ground, while a small cow bellowed in the distance, lazily munching on some grass, strings of thick saliva dripping from its jaws.

Distracted, I stumbled forward; my dirty bare foot scuffed against something. I realized that it was a rag doll, button eyes looking at me. I picked it up, carefully brushing the dust and leaves off the hair. It was then that a little girl, maybe four or five, hung back a few feet away, curiously staring up at me. Dots of white clay was placed on her nose and round cheeks. She shyly stood behind a large pig pen, where a group of sows ate hungrily, slop pails lined up next to the wooden trough. When she saw that I was looking at her, she crouched as I slowly knelt down and placed my walking stick on the dry grass. My throat tightened a bit.

Cowry seashells were braided in her hair. A soft smile fell on my face. Her large chocolate eyes peeked at me again, a wrinkled thumb in her mouth.

Slowly, I held it out with both of my hands.

Little by little, the child took a few timid steps towards me, her tiny grubby fingers reaching for the doll. Once in her arms, she began to hug it tightly, her face lighting up. A woman ran out, calling her name in a panicked tone. Startled by my appearance, she immediately scooped the now crying girl up and rushed back to her hut.

I remained kneeling on the bumpy ground for a while, my eyes stinging, before gently leaving the toy that had fallen on the ground on top of the pen and limping away. I could feel the woman’s eyes on me behind a tapestry.

Shakily, I drew the ragged cloak a bit closer to myself and slipped between two huts, blending in the shadows, breathless. For a while I stared at my hands, guilt washing over me. After leaning my back against the thatched wall for a while, I just mustered enough courage to step out again when something slammed into me, hard. Before I knew it, I was on my side in the dirt. There were quick footsteps. My walking stick had rolled across the ground, and I realized that a person's dark shadow spilled over me.

"Are you alright? I am so sorry!"

The light had left an odd glare in my eyes, before I could make out Fritz's face. He was a lot shorter up close. Concern was in his eyes, but I noticed a rifle was strapped to his back. The man extended a large palm towards me, bent over. Red clay was dotted all over his cheeks and nose in a unique pattern; dots settled around his eyebrows. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat, and, judging from his expression, he didn't seem to recognize me. To him, I was one of the villagers. I was one of them. And suddenly, my vision was getting blurry at the edges. This was the first sentence that someone had spoken to me in months beyond months.

"Sir? Are…are you okay?”

As the words sank into my ears, I could only stare at him from behind my hair with one eye. Someone was talking to me. Me. He did not run away, screaming or panicking, and a deep warmth settled over me. Instead, he was already picking up my walking stick and helping me up. When he handed it to me, it was slick with mud. I was in a daze to see he did not appear frightened.

"I apologize, I have a particularly bad habit of not watching where I am going." Fritz loudly coughed and scrunched up his nose when a thick cloud of dust settled over us. A man nearby was pulling a wagon across the dirt; there was a long silence between us. He gazed at my rags, the angry blisters that marked my bare feet. After a brief pause, he seemed to break away from his thoughts. "Forgive me. You look like you’ve come quite a long way, man. Do you need assistance?"

I remained silent, a lump forming in my throat. He extended his hand out to me again.

"My name is Fritz," he boldly stated. “What is yours?"

Very slowly, I accepted it, the sensation of someone's flesh against mine heavenly. I kept my head down as he, with curiosity, studied the thick blanket of tangled hair that hid my monstrous face.

"M...Milo." It came out of me in a faint whisper, and, like a small seed, the first lie was planted on my tongue. My sweaty fingers tightened around the now slippery walking stick.

"So you can speak.” He grinned. “You must come with me to my friend's home. I was just heading over there to drop something off. Would you care for a meal? You aren't from around here, I can tell, but you need not worry. I can't imagine what the circumstances of the camp you had managed to escape from was like. Any brother of ours is welcome in this place." He adjusted the weapon on his back. "Come! Please, I insist."

Brother.

Such endearment of the word made my throat burn. Before I knew it, he had clamped a heavy hand over my shoulder and was guiding me throughout the crowds of people.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

* * * * * *

The wooden bowl placed in front of me was piled high with meat and vegetables and rice. As I began to scoop some up with my fingers, guilt consumed me with every small bite I took. George sat across from me with his own plate, chewing heavily. I had caught a glimpse of his pregnant wife, she was a short woman with a colorful scarf wrapped around her head who was hoeing potatoes in a small garden behind their hut. On the table rested the rifle Fritz had dropped off at the table before rushing out to take care of other tasks; the tapestry hanging above the entrance of the hut blew in the wind.

Geoge jutted a thumb towards me, biting into a large chunk of meat. "Don't like it?”

"It's very good." I cradled the bowl in my hands. "I greatly appreciate this."

A wide smile fell on his face. Immediately he rose to his feet, and, holding a small clay pitcher, poured a large mug of warm goat’s milk and set it front of me.

I kept my head low, studying its foamy surface. My fingertips traced the smooth rim.

He stared at me, confused. "Please, you mustn’t hold back. Go ahead. You don't have to ration for yourself around here, you know. You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks; I’ve seen sticks that have more meat on them than you. We have plenty more before you can get back to your feet. What is mine, is yours, is everyone’s. We all help each other.”

"Thank you," I whispered.

George licked a few remaining grains of rice off his fingers and slightly leaned a bit forward. "You must've come quite a long way, just like the rest of us. Where is home for you, Milo?"

"Selva." I cursed myself as another lie slipped out of my mouth. The knotted ends of my filthy hair hung around my elbows as I began to play with my fingers. Beads of sweat traveled down my forehead; it had been ages since I was able to share a meal with anyone. And yet his company was so warm, so comforting, filling me up more than food or cigarettes or alcohol ever could.

The man didn't seem to notice how badly my hands shook; he was busy cleaning up his plate. "That is a long ways away; you must be exhausted. I don't know if you intend to continue on with your travels, but if you wish to spend the night, I am sure Fritz and I can work out a temporary place for you." His blue eyes slightly widened. "It isn't so safe in these woods."

"Oh, no, that isn't necessary. Really." I was fighting the dam rising inside of me. "You...you have done so much for me already. More than you realize."

In the corner of my eye, the barrel of the rifle gleamed in the dim light. George stood up with a small grunt, set down his plate and picked up the weapon, examining it carefully. As I slowly rose to my feet, he turned his back to me, running his fingers across the wooden and metal exterior, the leather strap dangled from his arms.

"Do...do you know anything about the tubes?" he hesitatingly asked. "You've seen them in camps before. The civilians point them at my people and they fall to the ground dead. Fritz spotted some that were in good shape from the massacre of dead soldiers near here. No one knows how they got there, or how they were killed. We just woke up and found them at that place."

Slowly, each candle in the hut blew out, a faint layer of frost crawling on wax. Faint twisted trails of smoke rose above. A bead of blood slipped down my nose. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to control the energy inside me. When I opened them, I noticed how my breaths were visible in the air, which was a bit colder. It was mostly dark inside, and I could see George looking at my shadow, still holding the weapon in his arms.

"There are different kinds of firearms," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Pistols. Machine guns. Semiautomatics. The one you have in particular was an MK-17. FN- SCAR. It's a special assault rifle. It's quite rare around these parts. I've only seen the army rely mostly on the carbines." I slowly began to take a step closer to him, my heart aching, longing. "But I can show you how to use it. Any one you or Fritz bring in."

His face was full of awe and curiosity. "They have names?"

"Indeed." I was only a few feet away from him. "They are issued by the army. When...when I was in the camp I snuck into the general's office a lot of times and saw the kind of weapons they had there." Trying to distract him from the half truth, I gently reached out and pointed to distinct parts, my black fingernails tapping against their surfaces. "This is the cartridge. The barrel. Right below your finger is the trigger. And this square part---" I detached it from the body of the rifle. "---is where the magazine goes. Right now it's empty. It's a lot to handle at first sight, but I...I can show you the basics. If...you....you would like."

“How many of these do you know about?”

”Quite a bit.”

When George looked up at me, there was no fear in his eyes. Only intrigue. And behind the matted hair that fell over my face, I faintly smiled at him.

"You know how to use this?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Please, can you show Fritz, too? And some other men?" He perked up. "I've got it! How...how about...you come back and meet me here in a week? I need this time to get the boys together. If only a few of us learn about these tubes, it would be enough to protect us from any soldiers who may stumble and find this place. I don't know how long you intend to stay around here, but---"

"I don't mind!" My voice became a bit too loud, thick with excitement. "I....I mean, I would love to." I looked down again. "I am more than honored to."

“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “So I will see you then?"

I nodded, too choked up to speak.

George beamed and broadly stuck his hand out to me in the darkness. Very slowly, I took it and gave it a firm shake, my breaths shaky and weak. When I stepped out into the warm sunlight and into the bustling village, I felt like I could soar. But of course I could barely stay away for seven days.

* * * * * * *

"You sure you know where you are going?" Fritz's voice echoed in the woods. Another man, muscular and brown haired, clamped his hand over his mouth, causing him to wince. "Watch it!"

"Quiet, you fool," he hissed. "What if they are civilians nearby? You'd get us all killed."

"You're most likely to do that first, Covey," Fritz snapped, prying his arm off his face.

"I'd like to see you try," laughed a short boy. He looked to be in his late teens, only a few years younger than the rest.

My bare feet lightly landed on each branch as I quietly swung from branch to branch, icicles forming beneath my dirty toes. I peered through the thick leaves.

An annoyed look crossed Fritz's face. "No one asked you, Ki."

George spun around. I noticed his face was covered with red and white paint, just as all of theirs were, but the K shaped scars were still visible on their cheeks. He carried two machetes in his hands, their blades gleaming in the dim moonlight. "Hey, that's enough. All of you. Just keep focused. We don't have time for bickering, you guys."

"But he started--"

"Quit it."

Fritz rolled his eyes. Ki snickered when they disappeared into a bamboo patch. My hand slipped on the branch I was holding onto; a faint yelp escaped from my mouth as I slammed hard into the bushes on my side, scrambling to get to my feet and stumbling forward. A flock of birds rose in the air, catching the mens' attention. My chest rose up and down rapidly as I remained low.

”What was that?” Covey asked. “Should we hide?”

”Beats me,” Fritz shrugged.

George held out a worn, faded piece of paper in his hands, squinting to see a bit better. He looked slightly annoyed. “For the love, focus already. What do you all think this is, a sight seeing trip? We should only be half a mile away. We're close to the outskirts of Navu."

"It's supposed to be a camp, right?" Covey asked, adjusting the bow he carried in his hand. A good amount of arrows were tied to the back of his slender frame, and for a moment, I did not doubt the skill he possessed with them. "The Red Snakes usually only have around thirty guys. They have those strange tubes that they point at you, and you can die."

"We need those tubes--"

"They're not tubes, they are firearms," George corrected, folding and tucking the map away.

“Oh, pardon me, great and mighty one,” Ki scoffed. ”What makes you so sure?”

"There's a new survivor I met who knows about them." His eyes glimmered with hope. "You all will meet him soon. I...” He frowned and scratched his head. “Goodness, I forgot his name."

Fritz snapped his fingers. "You mean Milo?"

"Yes, that is it.”

"I hope he can help. We've seen many men in the security wards fight to get their hands on those. If we had some on our own, maybe that'll be enough to persuade the soldiers to leave us alone for good." Covey’s tone became softer. "We can be able to get the others out nearby soon enough."

Ki placed a hand on his weapon. "Too bad they were broken in half we saw them near the village. Split in two. Along with the big rectangular machines." When he looked up, his large eyes were round with curiosity. "Do you think we'll figure out how to use them?"

"Of course," Fritz answered quickly. "Right?"

George didn't answer and continued moving forward in the bamboo, hacking at several stalks with the machetes in his hands, causing the plants to fall on the ground at his feet. The sound of their footsteps hid my own, and the faint smell of a campfire filled my nose, the orange light seeping through the trees. I could hear the faint sound of the soldiers laughing and drinking amongst each other. Ki got down on his stomach. Despite the forced look of confidence on his face, I saw how badly he was shaking.

"Remember," Fritz softly whispered. "They are worthless without their tubes. Get them."

"Rifles," Ki hissed.

“Shut up. Now move.”

Covey formed an odd sign with his hand before climbing up on the branches of a nearby tree, already hidden in the clusters of leaves. The tip of the arrow poked out. George and Fritz gripped their knives.

An arrow whizzed out into the air, slamming into a soldier's hand, causing blood to stream down his arm. His screams of pain echoed in the trees as Covey reloaded and released his bow again. The men began to scamble about, struggling to find the source of the attack. Gunfire exploded around us, and for a moment, it was hard to see.

Ki knocked the gun from a nearby general and swung the barrel hard against his face, bits of bone and flesh leaking to the ground. Gritting my teeth, I held my hand out, concentrating, causing a clear ice wall to grow and separate the men from their opponents. A series of bullet holes gathered in the soil as the strangled cries the soldiers filled the air below.

I slid forward, a white foggy storm gathering in the air, blue light exploding from my palms. Ice particles rose in the air, before falling down and piercing those into serveral pieces, organs and limbs hanging from the tree. Frost gathered on the ground as I rolled down a ditch, coughing and spitting up blood. My fingers sunk into the grass. What had been full of chaos moments before was silent.

Covey jumped down from the frozen tree he was in and trudged through the sudden mound of snow, still clutching his bow and arrows. His eyes widened at the sight of the icebergs and the corpses of the Red Mambas around him. Fritz was struggling to take in the sight as well, breathing heavily.

"Ki!" George's voice echoed in the cold air. He was covered head to toe in snow, shivering as he began digging frantically around, gasping for air.

"I'm here." A weak voice came from behind a large bush. The young man slowly peeked out, his hair dusted with frost, before sneezing. He clenched his jaw, a large dark red spot spreading out on his lower leg. “I can't find my knife, George. I can't find my...."

"Curse it all," Fritz shouted, sliding down his knees. He tore off a large piece of cloth from his clothing and tied it around the wounds, applying pressure with his hands. The others gathered around and watched, sniffing, their fingers and noses a bright pink color from the sudden cold. "Damn it all."

My heart sank. I slowly moved backwards into the shadows, twigs snapping beneath my bare feet, peering out once more. Fritz sighed as he tied the cloth tightly around the wound.

"Don't move," he ordered. "Understand?"

"I'm alright," Ki mumbled. "Really, I'm fine." He gave Fritz a sincere look. "It don't hurt too bad. I...I can walk, you know. I can. Just got the wind knocked out of me."

"You just rest there for a while, kid," George said. "Don't worry, we'll have you back home in a jiffy. I only need you to hold on for me."

Fritz looked around at the sparkling surface of the icicles hanging from the branches, then the blue corpses of the men who had just stood in front of them merely moments ago. He shivered, a cloud of white mist rising from his lips when he turned to face the others who were staring at him.

"What?"

Covey barely got his words out. He stared at his warped reflection in the giant ice wall, tapping his fingers against its surface. "How..."

"I had nothing to do with this, I swear," Fritz exploded, his face riddled with bewilderment. "I'm just as confused as you guys are, alright? I don't know what happened, nor where all this snow came from."

"We're not saying you did," Ki wheezed, grinning from ear to ear. "It's not like you just pulled superpowers out of your head and decided to destroy the whole blasted camp. We know you can't be that gifted, right?"

Fritz spoke through his teeth. "If you don't shut up you'll be waking up tomorrow morning with both of your legs--"

"Enough already," Covey snapped, shoving him to the side. "What's the matter with you two, anyways?"

George was already wandering out toward the remains of the camp, his worn shoes crunching against the surface of the snow as he picked up the rifles lying on the ground and slung the long bandoliers across his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he studied the torn flag blowing in the wind, and the snow covered trees and branches. He scooped some of the cold powder up with his hand, watching it cling to his fingers with great interest before clicking his teeth. I held my breath.

”I don’t get it,” he murmured. “Where is all this coming from? It seems to be following us.”

“Following us?” Covey echoed. “C’mon, man, I think that’s too much of a stretch.”

”But it’s not anywhere else in these woods. Just the areas that we…” George’s voice faded. “We are in.”

"This is definitely the strangest weather I've ever seen yet, boys," Ki agreed. "I haven't even seen it since we found those bodies across the field that leads to our village.” He suddenly squinted his eyes, his face becoming pale, which tore me in half inside. “Wait a minute.”

Fritz just stood there, stunned as he began to vigorously scratch the back of his head with his thumb. "You're not saying that this is somehow connected toward that incident, are you?”

"Why not?" George asked. "This is the second time we've found a bunch of dead people in the snow. I don't think it's much of a coincidence. I couldn't say, anyways. Not twice in a row now."

”I can,” Ki quietly murmured.

Covey tossed Fritz a couple of rifles. "Come on, let's take as many as we can and get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps."

The others murmured in agreement as they began scavenging the rest of the weapons and ammo, pausing to stare at the frozen soldiers who were torn into bits and pieces. Even as they started to disappear, George continued to stare at the trees, the faint trail of blood from my nose that lead into the shadows. He inched a bit closer, taking one hesitating step, holding out his machete in the air, arm shaking. When the sound of ice forming spread on the ground from beneath me, he quickly ran off to the others.

Snowflakes fell from the air.

I gazed at him through my wet vision. Ice crawled on the tree bark from my muddy, calloused fingers.