Her voice carries conviction, each word pushing back against the cold and fatigue threatening to set in. It’s enough to spark hope. Even with the wind biting at my face and the trail ahead uncertain, I can’t help but think we might just make it.
Hours later,doubt begins to creep in. The trail has become a monotonous cycle of cold and up. Ever upward. Our conversations have dwindled, replaced by the sound of heavy breathing, and our stops to rest are more frequent. We're both struggling to keep up the pace as we look for the first landmark, something about watchful eyes.
Darkness is falling fast, and when I stumble again, I call out, “Sita! We can’t keep going like this. We won’t be able to find these eyes in the dark, anyway.”
She nods, gesturing to a rock face ahead. When we stop, it helps to block some of the wind, making me realize just how brutal the weather here is. Sita was right, this side of the river is completely different.
I drop my pack and stretch my tight shoulders. Sita pulls off hers and, with practiced ease, sets up a compact four-season tent. My spirits lift at the thought of even a little time out of the weather. I’m beyond grateful for her presence.
We crawl into the tent, and while I’m still partly frozen, the lack of wind chill inside is such a relief. Sita pulls out a small stove and starts heating water. She hands me a sleeping bag, then unrolls her own. I can’t believe how poorly prepared I was for this journey. I really wouldn’t have made it without her.
By the time our beds are set up, the water is hot. While she makes tea, I dig out the protein bars I had hurriedly thrown in the top of my pack. My fingers and toes tingle as they warm up, and my face feels like it’s finally thawing. Our simple dinner tastes like a feast, and the hot tea fills me with warmth, rekindling my energy and hope.
Despite the physical exhaustion, I struggle to fall asleep. My mind keeps rehearsing what I'll say to Eryon if we find him.Whenwe find him, I correct myself. Still, a part of me can't shake the worry that he won't listen—or worse, that he'll blame me for Ben’s pursuit. And, honestly, I wouldn't blame him. After all, if he hadn’t rescued me from that avalanche, none of this would have happened.
Although I regret the danger heading his way, I can’t regret the time we spent together. It was cathartic, and I’ve come out of it stronger. Fiercer. Unlike Ben, who I sure as shit regret my time with. But all these experiences, whether full of pain orpleasure, have shaped me into who I am today. The old Dahlia never would’ve rushed off into the Himalayan mountains to save a Yeti. But the new Dahlia does.
Because I’m Dahilia fucking Wilde.
I must drift off because the next thing I know, Sita is shaking me awake. We quickly break camp, barely stopping for tea.
As we trudge up the mountain, the trail growing steeper with every passing step, the world becomes a blur of white snow, gray rock, and the relentless howl of the wind. Just when I think I can’t go on, Sita stops.
"Didi, look!" she exclaims, pointing ahead. "The watching eyes. We need to pass through them."
I follow her gaze and see, partially uncovered by the shifting snow, two massive round boulders that form a narrow passage between them. A thrill runs through me at our luck.
As we walk through, I stop and turn back to look at the stones. The late sun strikes their surface, and that’s when I see it. There’s writing on the rock that looks like it was recently scratched into the surface.
“Sita, can you read that?” I point to the word.
Squinting at the mark, she mouths a few different possibilities before saying, “I don’t know this language, but it looks close to some words I do recognize. If I’m reading it correctly, I think it starts with Sru?—?”
My lips curve into a smile as my heart leaps. “Sruhnar.”
She looks at me with wide eyes and then back to the carving, “Yes, that fits. But what is it?”
He carved my name into a rock. It’s a gesture so simple, yet so profound—it must be the Migoi’s way of marking our connection, like two lovers carving their initials into a tree. My spirits surge, and I’m suddenly re-energized. Without thinking, I break into a run, laughing, with Sita hot on my heels.
“My name,” I call back over my shoulder.
Our pace slows with the fading light, and although we areclearly making progress, neither of us have any idea how far we’ve come or how far we’ve yet to go. I hate to stop and make camp but the darkness leaves us no choice. And getting injured is not an option in the wilderness.
This morning,I’m the one waking Sita at first light. In wordless agreement, we pack up and break camp. We eat as we walk, even skipping tea in favor of hitting the trail. Today feels significant, and I can sense that whatever this journey holds, it’s about to end.
Within a few hours, she points out another landmark. Jagged, snow-covered rocks frame the entrance like icy sentinels.
“The whispering gorge is the passageway to the Migoi’s territory. After this, we only need to find the frozen falls which mark the entrance to the cave. Let’s wrap our scarves around our ears and pull up our hoods—if the stories are true, it will be loud.”
Her instructions sound strange, especially for something called the whispering gorge, but I follow her lead without hesitation. As I adjust my hood and scarf, a flash of red at the entrance catches my eye, a vivid shock of color against the muted landscape.
I jog over and kneel to brush away the snow and stones to pull it free. A laugh escapes me as recognition sparks in my chest at the scrap of lace.
“He’s leaving me a trail,” I murmur, more to myself than to Sita. The thought of him watching over me, guiding me, has tears pricking at my eyes.
She glances over, her brows lifting in curiosity. “The Migoi?”
I nod, holding up the scrap of fabric from my torn panties. “He knows I’m coming for him. And if he’s leaving clues…” my voice trails off, a flicker of excitement rising. “It’s like he wants me to find him.”
