Sterling Forge's Arc

Chapter 17 of 31

They came out of the trees above the ravine by mid-morning. Sterling stopped at the lip and looked down. The water ran fast between two stone walls. Ice chunks turned in the current. A single fallen trunk spanned the gap, its bark glazed white from the blizzard. There was no other crossing for a mile in either direction, and a mile in either direction would put Linny back in wet cold before dark. "That," Linny said, and pointed at the log. Sterling knelt and touched the bark. His glove came away wet. "I go first. I'll knock the worst of the ice off with the hammer. Wait for my hand." "Fine." He stepped out. The trunk was as wide as his shoulders, but the ice made it read like glass. He set his boots flat, one after the other, and struck the top of the log with the flat of the hammer as he went. Shards flaked off and dropped into the water below. The chipmunk rode in Linny's coat pocket and watched him with round eyes. Halfway across, the wind pushed him. He crouched, waited, kept going. He reached the far side and turned. "Come." She stood on the lip and did not move. "I'm scared." He had not heard her say it before. He kept his voice even. "I believe in you." She looked taken back, then she smiled and stepped out. She walked with her arms low and her eyes on the trunk. She moved better than he had. Three steps from him, her boot caught a patch he had missed. Her leg went sideways. She dropped. He threw himself flat and caught her wrist as it passed the edge. Her weight yanked him toward the drop. He locked his elbow against the log. Her boots kicked at nothing above the white water. "I've got you," he said. His arms were stiff from the cold. His shoulders burned. He pulled. Her other hand found his sleeve. He pulled again, and this time she came up over the bark and onto him, and they both fell backward onto the frozen dirt of the far bank. She lay on his chest. Her hat had slid off. Her breath went across his cheek in short warm bursts. He waited for her to push up and stand. She did not. She lifted her head and kissed him. It wasn’t brief, but deep with longing. Longing to replace the time they waisted hating each other. When she pulled back, she looked at him like she was checking a line she had drawn. "Alright," she said. "Alright," he said, hiding the smile as it but his cheeks. She stood and offered her hand. He took it. The chipmunk climbed out of her pocket and shook itself. Across the ravine, the trees they had come from looked small. Ahead, the ground sloped up toward the hill. She had not said she forgave him. But she had crossed to him, and she had kissed him, and she was still holding his hand when they started to climb.