Smooshed against him like I am, I can hear the booming echo of his voice through his huge chest. Even that is soothing. A silly part of me wishes we could travel like this, attached to the front of his warm chest. I’m absolutely toasty, something I haven’t felt in. . . well, I can’t remember the last time I was completely warm. I couldn’t get close enough to the fire back in the castle. Some part of me was always cold. My backside while my front faced the fire, or the opposite if I turned my butt to the fire.
But with Thing wrapped around me like this, I feel completely warm and completely safe.
It feels. . .new. Even before the attack, the life I lived. . . Doing what I do and constantly fighting to keep my father’s organization alive and relevant in a changing world. . .
Feeling warm and at peace is rare.
Those aren’t things I value. I immediately argue with myself as I lean deeper into Thing’s chest, not quite ready to have him pull away. It’s absurd to find a stranger’s embrace so reassuring. But he’s not just any stranger, is he?
“We should get moving while there’s light,” he says in his deep, rumbly voice.
Reluctantly, I nod, stealing one last moment of warmth and security before pulling away. Immediately I’m slammed by cold as his arms retreat.
“Stay in your sleeping bag,” he says. “I’ll stoke the fire so we can have a hot breakfast before we go.”
I nod but stay quiet. I don’t trust my voice at the moment with the strange lump rising as I lose his touch. Suddenly the rest of the world rushes back in, and it’s soloud. The wind is blustery and it’s overwhelmingly brightwhitewhen he opens the tent flap. Then thoughts of my father and my revenge hit, andhow far we have left to walk, not to mention the icy pins pricking my nose?—
I bury my head in the sleeping bag and wait until he calls me again for breakfast.
When he does, I find he’s cooked more of the wolf’s meat from last night. It tastes like pork, and I’m surprised I don’t mind eating it too much. We’re both quiet, but we’re hurrying, too.
I think we both feel the urgency to use the sunlight. While I finish eating, Thing quickly breaks down the tent and packs everything back up in the hulking bag he pulls onto his back. Then we start our trek.
Quiet is the theme of the day. It’s strange after the intensity of yesterday. I don’t know what to say other than to monologue about different types of knives, and there’s so much to take in from the scenery around me. It feels like too much to talk and walk at the same time anyway.
Maybe he feels the same because he doesn’t say anything, either.
But then I find that kind of nice, just being together without chatter. It’s not something a lot of people are capable of—being together quietly without it feeling bad or strange. It’s nice to be quiet with Thing. Although I scrunch my nose every time I think his “name.”
It’s not a good name, I feel. He’snota thing. He’s a person, and he deserves a person’s name.
So after we’ve walked a while, the sun halfway through the sky, I say, “What about Mortimer?”
Thing’s head swings my way. “What?”
“As a name. You know, becausemortmeans?—”
“I know what it means.”
“And you could shorten it to Morty.”
Thing shakes his head,hisnose scrunching. Which looks cute on the giant man. I smile under my ski mask. “I don’t like it. It feels like a hunched-over librarian’s name. With glasses down his nose.”
I laugh out loud.
“Okay, how about something more stately. Like Thanatos?”
He pauses, looking thoughtful for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m not the god of death.”
“It doesn’t have to be literal. You could just be namedafterthe god of death.”
“Thanatos. . .” He tries but then shakes his head. “Doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay, you come up with some.”
He continues forwards. I notice he takes very short, slow steps to my rapid, long ones. He proved how quickly he could make this journey yesterday when he caught up to me so fast. But he goes slowly, for my sake.
He’s so patient. People are rarely patient, in my experience. I frown, staring at the snow as I continue crunching forward.
