“I will not let the fire go out.”
She sighs and clutches at her thighs where her knife is and then nods. “Okay.”
“You should get into the tent. Into the warm bag.”
She looks uncertain, even though she repeats, “Okay.”
I nod. “Good. That is good.”
She sets down her empty bowl in the snow, then looks in my direction. “Goodnight, Death.” And then, to my great shock, she comes over and presses her warm lips to my forehead before disappearing inside the tent flap and zipping it shut behind her.
FOURTEEN
KSENIA
“Papa,”I say.
“Don’t you see, Ksyusha?” Papa grins at me, raising a glass. A fire crackles behind him, but still, I shiver, feeling as if something is wrong. I should warn him, but I can’t remember why.
“Papa,” I start again, but he cuts me off.
“It’s all about to be made right. Just like I always told you. It will all be ours again.”
But then, behind me, comes a low, blistering growl.
I swing around and yank out my knives. “Get behind me, Papa!” I scream as wolves come out of the forest and circle us.
One of them snaps at my father, who shouts and falls to his knees.
“No!” I scream and lunge at the wolf with my knife. But I’m too late. The wolf has my father by the throat. Blood! There’s so much blood.
“Papa!” I scream. “No, Papa!”
A hand on my shoulder shakes me, and I wake up, still screaming.
I blink in confusion to find myself in the dark tent, Thing hovering over me. The wolves are gone, and I’m so, so cold. I can’t stop shaking. Thing immediately pulls back. “Are you all right? You were screaming. And you’re half out of the sleeping bag,” he says.
I’m shaking so hard, and tears burst out of my eyes. “Hold me,” I cry.
“I thought you don’t like to be touched,” he says, but I just shake my head, barely knowing what I’m talking about but knowing I need it all the same. Somehow I know it will help.
“Hold me,” I cry again, “and squeeze.”
Everything is falling apart around me, and my shaking is so deep. I’m going to come apart if he doesn’t?—
Already the dream is fading even though I’m trying to hold onto it. I shudder more. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the symbolism of my dream.
The terror of my uncle’s attack and the wolves all mixed into one terrifying dream. And my subconscious trying to get me to deal with the idea that my father might not have?—
No. Papa’s stronger than me. He taught me everything I know. If I made it out, then so did he.
“Hold me!” I scream and there is no hesitation. Thing is right. During my struggling, I’ve come half out of my sleeping bag, likely why I’m so cold.
But then, finally, Thing’s six arms wrap around me.
“Tighter,” I say when he holds me too gently.
He squeezes with the pressure I knew I needed, and my tremors kick down a notch when he cocoons me. Being held in all six of his arms, wrapped up and down my body like the tightest protective shell, begins to calm my panic.
