Nell Larkspur's Arc

Chapter 8 of 23

They walked until the trees thinned into a stand of frost-laden pines. The chipmunk trotted at Lena's heel in its tiny gray jacket. The fox kept ten paces ahead, tail flicking. Nell stopped at the edge of the stand and set his axe down against a trunk. He had carried the lie since the clearing. He could not carry it any longer. "Lena." She turned. Snow caught in her blue hair. "The fire back there wasn't hunters." She went still. "There was blue cloth. A drag mark. Blood in the snow. I didn't want you to see it." Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked at the ground between them for a long moment. The chipmunk climbed onto her boot. "Is that the way they took her?" she asked. "I think so." "You're sure it was her cloth?" "No. But it was her color. And the tracks went the right way." She nodded once, slow. She did not cry. She pressed her palm flat against the nearest trunk as if to hold the tree in place. "You lied to me." "Yes." "Don't do it again." "I won't." She looked up at him. Her eyes were wet but her voice was level. "Well. Let's go get her. The least my father deserves is her body to bury." Nell picked up the axe. "It's half a day at least." "Then we walk fast." The fox came trotting back, ears pricked. She looked from Nell to Lena, giving the chipmunk a dirty look before turning back. They did not speak for the first stretch. Lena kept pace beside him. Her hand brushed his once, then took it. She did not squeeze. She just held on, the way a person holds a rail on bad stairs. "I thought if I hid it you'd stay," Nell said. "I'm staying." "Even now." "Even now. But you tell me the next thing. Whatever it is." "I will." She let go of his hand to lift the chipmunk into her coat pocket. The small pink ears poked out at the seam. Then she took his hand again. The fox led them back up toward the ridge. The wind picked up through the frost-heavy branches and shook loose a fine dust of snow. Nell watched her face when she wasn't looking. She was set. Not broken. Something in his chest that had been braced for months finally let go. He had told her. She had stayed. And now they were walking back into the worst place he knew, to bring home what was left of her sister. He tightened his grip on the axe and matched her stride.