And then I fled like a coward the first chance I got.
“Thank you,” I tell the old man, removing the blanket and handing it back. “I don’t even know your name.” I press my hand to my chest. “I’m Hannah.”
He smiles. “Hannah.”
“What’s your name?” At his confused expression, I try more slowly, “Name?” while gesturing at him. I pat my chest, saying, “Hannah,” then point at him.
He brightens with understanding. “Mikhail.”
“Well, thank you, Mikhail.” Recalling something from movies, I attempt, “Spasibo.”
His eyes widen. With recognition? Concern? Maybe I’m not in Russia after all?
But he just pats my back and releases another stream of incomprehensible words.
I head toward the front door, which prompts alarmed chatter from him. I understand the gist, if not the actual words. I’m sure he thinks venturing into the cold darkness with nothing around for miles is foolish. Again, he mentions “politsiya.”
I shake my head because I know something he doesn’t.
If Beast isn’t already searching for me, he will be soon. He won’t release his consort easily.
You run, I will chase.
Yes, he’ll come looking, but I don’t want him finding kind Mikhail. While Beast hasn’t been violent toward me, I remember the stories about missing hikers.
“No, Mikhail.” I hold up my hand. “I’ll be fine.”
He tries stepping in front of me, but I gently push him aside. If he attempts to restrain me, I’ll become more than upset. I won’t hurt him, but I won’t be kept either.
Fortunately, he moves away, looking bewildered.
Before I reach the door, he presses something heavy into my hands. A flashlight.
Next, he spins away and returns with a knit hat and scarf. His thoughtfulness nearly brings me to tears.
“Thank you,” I say in English, not wanting to risk Russian again. I hope he feels the sincere gratitude in my tone, even if he can’t understand the words. “Thank you for everything. You’ve been a lifesaver today, and I’m so grateful for your kindness.”
I lean forward and hug his small, wiry frame. Then I turn, pull open the door, and step into the brutally cold night, my flashlight beam the only illumination in the darkness.
I’m relievedto leave Mikhail’s cabin behind. I genuinely don’t want Beast finding him.
But it’s immediately lonely once the warm light disappears behind me.
The howling wind provides the only sound in this silent winter night.
It’s so profoundly quiet out here in the most intense winter I’ve ever experienced. And that’s saying something for someone who grew up in Minnesota. This snow is on another level entirely.
If it hadn’t partially melted and refrozen into a harder surface, I couldn’t have run on it earlier. Tonight’s fresh snowfall is so deep that each step sinks me to my calves. Mikhail provided oversized boots that we secured with extra laces wrapped around my ankles. They’re heavy but manageable.
They should be impossible to keep lifting after today’s ordeal, but I continue discovering this miraculous well of endurance.
Because of him.
Every new demonstration of my body’s capabilities fills me with wonder, confusion, and gratitude. Now I understand why people run marathons and scale mountains.
Because they can. Because they want to push these incredible machines they’ve been given to their absolute limits, then a little further. Because it’s glorious to draw air—even knife-cold air—into your lungs, then release it, then breathe again.
Even walking toward a castle full of monsters, there’s peace in my heart.
