Silna waited until the captains had left the new winter camp for a day of hunting, then started to prepare her plan. For much of that morning, she confined herself to her igloo: she had picked out the perfect stone the day before, and now it needed to be made into just the right shape. The hours passed her by as she carved and whittled until she was satisfied. It was a simple imitation, but one which he would no doubt recognize.

She called out to him. Harry, I have something to show you.

Just a moment, he answered from somewhere outside. After a few seconds, she heard the crunch of his footsteps approach their igloo, then he pushed aside the furs covering the entrance and ducked inside. Yes? He didn't suspect a thing.

Suppressing a mischievous grin, Silna motioned for him to sit beside her. There is a word you must learn.

Which one?

She placed the stone carving into his hands. Nutagak,she told him, as slow and firm as she could. You say it now.

Goodsir looked at the stone she had given him. It appeared to be a human form, he thought, but not the slim and evenly proportioned figures she had made in the past. The body was stout, with a large, round head that dwarfed the torso and limbs. Silna had given it a pair of eyes, closed as if in sleep.

Nutagak,he repeated. It must mean an infant.

What would your people's word be?

A baby, I should think. He handed the figure back to her. It's very nice.

But Silna would not take it from him. Instead, she closed his fingers around it, then let her hand rest on top of his. This one is ours.

It's only a…

Goodsir trailed off as the meaning of her words began to sink in, and Silna let her hidden smile spread across her face. Do you understand now?

For once in his life, he had no words to say. He began to tremble as he pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her shoulder. Are you certain?

She nodded.

There were an infinite number of things he could have said, wanted to say. He might have cursed himself for being so unbearably dense as not to realize it sooner, admired her cleverness and everything else about her, or listened to the small voice that was questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into their small existence.

He chose to silence all his thoughts and kiss Silna instead.


James slowed his walk, then stopped altogether as he approached the camp. "Something's happened."

"You cannot just say that and not elaborate on it, James!" said Francis, who was following behind with a seal carcass atop a sled.

"Then it would seem Dr. Goodsir is in distress."

Sure enough, Goodsir was hurrying out to meet the other men as they returned. He was clutching a small object that seemed to command much of his attention, and his lips moved as though he were babbling with excitement to himself.

James had never seen the man in such a state even in his better days. "Something gone wrong?" he asked.

Goodsir quickly shook his head and handed him the small stone he had been carrying.

James examined it, then showed it to Francis, who shrugged. "Is this a specimen of yours?"

Another shake of the head.

"Then I'm afraid we don't follow."

Goodsir hesitated a moment. Then he pointed back toward the igloo he shared with Silna and held up three fingers.

"We don't need another ice house, Harry."

He scowled and took back the stone figure. First he pointed to himself, then at the igloo, where Silna had just emerged. Then he held up the figure again. Me, Silna, and this.

Francis' bemused smile faded. "Silna's expecting."

Goodsir nodded, beaming.

James caught his breath. "Oh. Well, then…" He grinned back. "Then this is hardly a time to be solemn, my dear Francis!"

They all ate well that evening, for they declared it to be a special occasion, and James heaped congratulations upon his friends. Francis, meanwhile, looked pleased but said little: after the meal, he bid Goodsir and Silna an early goodnight and wandered from camp a small distance.

"They probably think you disapprove," James muttered when he caught up to him.

"I don't. I just...I can hardly believe it."

"What, that he's been with her?" James scoffed. "We hardly saw them for a day after they first put up their tent. I can only imagine what Dr. Stanley would have to say right about now…"

"I meant I can hardly believe that something alive can come from all we've endured." Francis looked up at the stars. "Something innocent. Could something innocent even survive out here, James?"

"I want to believe it can," James said quietly. "We were not meant to live with our eyes only on the coming day. Consumed by something no greater than ourselves."

"So it's hope you want," said Francis.

"I don't see what's wrong with that. Call it another lode from which to mine our courage."

"It will need courage as well."

"It won't be alone. It will have a strong mother, of course. Not to mention a damned resilient father."

"And an uncle who will finally have someone that hasn't heard his war stories a dozen times over."

James rolled his eyes and gave Francis a halfhearted shove. "Can't forget its humorless old grandfather, too."

"Who says I'm old?"

James laughed, but then let it trail off. "And the most important thing."

"Which is?"

"That it will learn from our mistakes. Because we must help it live when so many others could not."

"I…" Francis found his voice cracking. "I hope for that as well." His mind wandered to the stone Sophia resting amongst his belongings, to what might have been so long ago. But that was all in the past, and it was time for him to look to the future once more. Perhaps this land was giving them all a second chance.

"Do you really think it would like my war stories?"

"Oh, hush."