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"Is now the time for me to be the big powerful manly man who protects the damsel in distress?"
"Yes," she whispers. He watches her face, or the little patch of skin surrounding her eyes that he can see, and puts both arms on her shoulders. She looks up.
"Are you really that scared?"
Bella nods, and the moment he lets go of her shoulders, she seeks out his hand and holds it in hers. They continue to walk, hand in hand, and she squeezes his knuckles each time they hear a howl. After an hour and a half of walking, the sun peeks out from behind the clouds before disappearing behind a mountain, and as it does, howling comes from their side of the valley. She freezes.
"Hey, now." Edward runs his hand along her arm. "This is not some Discovery Channel hungry wild animal special. They have no interest in us."
"How do you know?"
"I lived here until I was eighteen, remember? I've seen and heard them. If they're not wounded or starving, they will avoid us."
She's so close the vapor of her breath fogs the buttons on his coat. "What if they're wounded and starving?"
"This year? Highly unlikely."
"What if we're the unlikely case and they eat us?"
"Then we die," he says, straight-faced, but when she pales, he takes her hand. "Hey, hey, lighten up. Don't get so carried away. It'll be fairly light for at least an hour, and either way, they're not interested in us. Alright?"
Bella nods but walks closer than necessary. She revels in his proximity, but she's unsure how he feels about holding her hand. He's a tough guy to understand.
Her fear grows the darker the sky becomes, but when stars become visible, Edward points at a sideways W-shaped constellation.
"That's Cassiopeia," he says. "She was a queen in Greek mythology who boasted about being more beautiful than the Nymphs. Poseidon had a wife who was a Nymph and condemned Cassiopeia to circle the celestial pole forever. She spends half of her time upside down as punishment for her vanity."
She's tempted to burst the balloon of snark that appears the moment he decided to initiate conversation, but stranger things have happened. And she likes listening to him. He spoke softly.
"Poseidon was God of—what?"
"The Sea."
"Right," she says. "Is she upside down now?"
"No," he replies. "But other cultures see a hand or moose antlers. The Arabs, I think, see a camel." He squeezes her hand to encourage her to walk faster. "See the star that's one thirds on the way to the North Star? That's the end of Dragon's tail, so if you start to go left and around the Little Bear, you'll reach—"
"Wait, wait," she interrupts. "Which one is the North Star?"
He stops, leans down, and when he presses his head against hers, she turns to face him slightly to see his eyes. He holds out his arm. "The bright one up there," he says. She's breathless from his proximity, but then he tugs her to continue walking and she finds herself observing him in the starlight, eyes bright and alive; completely unaware of how charming his knowledge makes him.
"How do you know?"
"See the quadrangle over there? That's part of the Great Bear, so if you take those two bright stars and count about five lengths of them upwards, that's North Star."
"How is that part of the Great Bear?"
"It's not," he replies. "See those three bright stars? They're the tail, and down there, that's its back leg. But North Star is part of the Little Bear, which is a bit fainter."
"So the Great Bear has its tail up and is looking down?"
"You can say that."
"Did all cultures consider that pattern of stars a bear?"
"Not all, but lots of them. Native Americans and the Greeks did."
"Individually?"
"I believe so."
"How?"
"I would imagine you'd have to be aware of the animal you draw the comparison to. Native Americans, for example, couldn't have had a kangaroo up there for the simple reason that they'd never encountered one. But if I remember correctly, their bear's tail is replaced by three hunters with the middle one carrying a cooking pot to cook up the bear."
"So where's the Dragon?"
"Go one third up from those two bright stars, left around the Little Bear and down to that quadrangle. That's the head. According to the legend, the Dragon was killed by a goddess named Minerva, and as she threw it on the sky it became twisted and froze at the North Celestial Pole. But instead of a Dragon, the Arabs see Mother Camels protecting their baby from hyenas."
"The Arabs seem to find lots of camels in the sky."
"I would, too, if I lived around camels," he replies. "But not that many, actually. There's only Camelopardalis left, and then that's enough camels for them, I think."
"Where is Camelo—what you just said?"
"It's not dark enough for it, but it's between Cassiopeia, Little Bear and Great Bear. It's a bit Y-shaped but the stars are too faint to see them yet."
Soft snow whirrs by their feet as they stroll, Edward's eyes are up in the sky but hers on his face. Like the front of his woolen scarf, his beard, eyelashes and eyebrows are covered by frost, and she can feel her own frosty eyelashes when she blinks. The cold, the starry sky, silence occasionally filled by a distant howl, holding hands with him, it all feels incredible to her.
"I like this," she says, shrugging when he stares at her for a second too long, but then he smiles. It's so tender it feels like he forgot to filter himself, so she blinks, because it's like she's looking at a different person. His expression changes, but not the look in his eyes.
"How do you know so much about stars?"
"You mean how could I be such an academic fail when I look like such a nerd?"
"No. Seriously, how do you know so much? It's incredible."
His frown fades as he understands she's not mocking him. "My gran," he replies. "She used to work as a history teacher but her real passion was mythology. She knows lots of Native American myths no-one's ever bothered to write down. Aleut and Tlinkit, particularly. So I guess I grew up with it."
"I wish I grew up like that," she replies, walking closer to him when she hears a howl. "Where is she now?"
"Somewhere in the woods. She told me she'd try to be here, so she might be waiting for us at home."
"Is she dog sledding?"
He hums in agreement.
"Isn't she scared to travel alone in the woods?"
"I doubt," he replies. "But if she's home, you can ask her."
Bella walks a bit quicker to face him, twirls around and smiles. "Do you even know how incredible your upbringing has been? Some people would die to have their children grow up the way you have."
"I think die is an exaggeration," he replies when she takes back his hand. "If it was that important, they'd move to the countryside. But I don't think Alaska's population even surpasses a million."
"It has increased over the years, though, hasn't it?"
"Someone read a handbook," he replies, nudging her.
She shrugs. "I wanted to be prepared."
"And were you?"
"Should've read Bear Grylls' biography instead."
