Page 109 of The Two of Us at the End of the World

I fish-mouthed for a breath that wouldn’t come. I was seeing stars. I dragged myself up into a crawling position and was about to lunge for her, planning to grab her and roll into a protective ball around her, when she held up her hand.

The middle wolf cocked its head at her.

It really did.

Just like it was asking a question.

And then she swept her little chubby arm through the air as if she was trying to play-swat the wolf, and the three wolves jerked back up onto their feet, looked all around them as if suddenly aware they were about to be attacked from all sides, and then the middle wolf turned and looked me right in the eye for a long beat that turned my guts to icy water—

—and then they turned tail and ran.

The baby waved after them.

Happily.

And then she huffed and puffed herself around until she was facing me and looked right into my eyes like the wolf had, except the huge grin that split her face was like sunshine, as if seeing me was the best surprise the universe could have given her.

And I think I said, What did you just do?

But I might just have thought it. And then I scooped her up and protected her as I jogged back towards what I hoped were the others, still there and still safe. And even as I did so I wondered how I would ever be able to make Cat believe what I had just seen.

And they were all there. The animals were strung out on the edge of the beach, Digger still protecting the girl’s brother, the horse jittery and alert and the goats chomping away at the rough clumps of grass on the lip of the drop-off with goat-like cool.

I took time to mend the girth and unload the panniers before putting them back on Red and then re-packing them, especially because I did it with one eye on the trees, in case the wolves returned. Half of me knew they wouldn’t bother us, but that was the part of me I couldn’t trust because it was based on the impossible thing that I thought I’d seen with the girl. The rational part of me kept a sharp lookout, not just on the trees but on Digger who was, as ever, keeping a much better watch than I ever could. It wasn’t just that she could monitor the scents the wind brought to her nose, it was as if she was plugged into a whole other layer of nature that humans like me could not access. I wondered, as I worked, what she would have made of what I thought I’d seen, if she’d come on it instead of me.

And then the work was done, the babies fed and loaded back into their pannier bed, and I led the horse gingerly back up on to the M-way. I took a moment to scope out the path ahead, pleased to see the road twisted away through moorland now, with grass and heather on each side, which meant there were no sections I could see where we’d be walking through woodland where wolves could come up on us without being seen.

OK, I said. We better get moving.

And then I threw up.

It came out of nowhere. I stood bent over and looked at the splat on the crumbling roadway at my feet.

Looks like concussion, said Cat.

I don’t have time for concussion, I said.

Ride the horse, Cat said.

I’ll be fine, I said.

I hadn’t ridden the horse much on the journey because I figured she was heavily laden enough already carrying everyone and everything else we needed. And I was happy enough walking. But I did feel more tired than usual, that was true. It was tempting. I tried to remember what First Aid and Safety for Dummies – now just a pile of ash somewhere a long way south of us – had to say about concussion. I’m sure it had advised me to call emergency services. Probably also to use a pillow in some helpful way. I know it was the least of the three brain injuries and was the one with no permanent damage, unlike contusion or haematoma. But I realised I hadn’t dealt with the cut on my forehead. It had stopped bleeding and clotted, but I still felt gingerly around it, hoping not to find a dent. There was just a lump, which I decided was good news, as was the fact that I didn’t have fluid coming from my nose or ears.

I did have a headache. I didn’t feel woozy. I did feel tired. I always felt tired on that journey, but this was a lot more. Shaky tired.

I think I’m OK, I said.

I looked up at the sky. From where the sun was, I realised morning had gone while repairing the girth strap and feeding the babies.

Ride the horse, Cat said again.

Fine, I said, hoisting myself on Red’s back. She didn’t like the extra weight and shifted around unhappily.

Just until we find somewhere for the night, I said. I think we should have a short day.

Don’t fall off, said Cat.

Good idea, I said.