Chapter Four
The old rifle sat easily within his hands, comfortable and sturdy, something solid in what was now a situation fast getting out of control. The snow had fallen heavy and thick again overnight. It had fallen relentlessly now for almost a week, cutting them off from civilisation. The autumn had fast become winter, their provisions running out and no hope of making it down the mountainside road into town. He had managed to clean the weapon and make it safe, but now he lay in a covert deep in the woods, waiting patiently, silently, barely moving a muscle. His legs had long since grown numb, and his feet ached from the cold, but they had to eat,and he would lie there until they had food. All day if he had to. Behind him, footprints etched deeply through the snow were filling up as new flakes fluttered down from the heavens. The wax jacket he wore, covered and camouflaged now by the snow, somewhat insulated him against the cold. He was worried, the lines etched deep into his face, and he wanted desperately to get back to the cabin, to make sure she was alright. He had made a breakthrough when she had asked him about the bluebird. She had caught him rolling it around in his hand. He had told her how his grandmother had treasured it as a present from his grandfather. He couldn't bring himself to tell her why, but she had spoken for the first time since they had arrived, and his heart had leapt. Then he saw it --a lone rabbit hopping slowly through the snow not ten metres away. In a heartbeat it lay dead, and they would eat well tonight at least.
She sat watching the snow fall, as she had done everyday, snowflakes dancing and swirling like memories as they settled softly on the deep layers put down over the past days. Like the images fleeting in out of her vision, they fluttered now rather than fell; the clouds above, almost empty of their burden, had started to thin and spread across the sky, like her guilt that was slowly dispersing. Rising higher, some escaped the valley's grip and, carried on strong winds, finally cleared the high ridges and vanished from this place that had entrapped them. Her anger and rage had slowly subsided as she sat watching. Here there was peace locked away in an isolated world, where sorrow was the lone cry of a wolf seeking its pack, and death was brought about purely for survival.
The pain she knew would never ease, but the love she felt within the old walls was as solid as they were. The tiny ornament moved smoothly between her hands, fingers feeling every aspect, every intricate detail, the glaze as smooth as glass, polished by hands that had for so many years done exactly the same as she was now. She knew in time she would heal, but she would never forget. Suddenly, seeing clearly through the storm in her mind, she jumped from her seat, snatching up the rifle from its restingplace against the fireplace. Throwing her blankets onto the floor, she ran out of the door and into the snow.
Sitting outside on the back porch, he worked the knife, slowly peeling skin and fur from the flesh, every so often skewering the dark red meat with the tip, and easing a lead pellet from the carcass. He had watched as a child as his grandmother did the same thing countless times. Now, mimicking her actions, he skinned the rabbit carefully and prepared it for the pot slowly simmering on the stove inside. His mind wandered slowly back to the previous week's events, trying to make sense of what had happened, trying to pull together some form of reasoning in his mind. He could find none. He could grasp no understanding of how anyone could take the life of a child, how someone could harm something so young, so defenceless.
He knew the external scars would heal; it was the inner scars that he could feel spreading through him that he couldn't bear. He cast them from his mind; he would deal with his own feelings later. He had to help her come to terms with hers. He was thankful, at least, that she didn't blame him. That he could never have lived with. He had survived; their child had not.
Slowly, he rubbed his aching shoulder. The cold of the snow had seeped through to his very bone, the pains spreading like icy fingers through the barely-healed wound. Slowly, he raised his eyes upwards and sighed. Feeling the need to get warm now more than ever, he made his way back inside. Placing the rabbit on the side, he walked through to the bedroom stripping off his wet clothes on the way, only to find a heap of blankets and a cold, empty seat. Nestled in the middle of the deep velvet cushions, placed with care was the tiny bluebird.
He ran, his feet cutting through the snow, frantically pushing bare branches out of his path and grabbing hold of trees to help pull him up the gully. He could see her footprints in the soft, deep snow. Following them, he scrambled, falling more than once. He didn't feel the cold from the snow slowly drenching his jeans. He didn't feel the cuts ripping deep into his hands as the jagged, icy bark of the trees gripped his flesh. His shirt, thrown on in haste andleft unbuttoned, snagged and tore as he ran through the dense brush to reach the clearing ahead. All he knew was he had to get to her, had to reach her. He had to.
He could see the clearing now, could feel the blood pounding through his body, adrenaline willing him on. His breath coming in gasps from the climb, the air sucked frantically into panicking lungs as he struggled to reach her. Every step he made sank deep into the snow, slowing him down.
The sharp resonance sliced the silence like a razor blade. In the now-still afternoon air it hung for a split second before echoing off the valley walls, building in depth before fading slowly back to stillness. Birds flew, screeching their warnings, skywards from their roosts at its onset. A group of startled deer bolted from the cover of a thicket, fleeing terrified, their white tails bobbing in distress, as the sound of death rang out across this place of isolated wilderness, across the land that had over the years brought solitude to those that needed it most.