Raven's Return - Ruby Dixon Page 0,13

stripped of clothing, I head out, holding my pack atop my head so it does not get wet.

It is a miserable swim, but a short one. The next stretch of beach is a short distance over, and I get out of the water quickly, shaking off the worst of the cold. No sea creatures attacked me, so I put my knife away and look around on this stretch of beach, stomping my feet to warm them as I go. There is no R'ven scent on this beach, which is disappointing, so I put my pack atop my head and swim out again, heading farther south. I follow the rocky walls and hunt through caves, looking for traces of my pretty hyoo-man, but there is nothing.

Then, three swims down, I scent it. Just a whiff of her lovely scent. It is old, but it is R'ven. And when I search the beach, I see the remains of a fire that has been put out and half-covered by sand.

She has been here. My heart swells with excitement and I know I am on the right path.

5

RAVEN

After two days of endless cold, I'm pretty sure my toes will never be warm again. I'm also pretty sure I'm never leaving the fireside ever again. I'll just drop my sleeping furs right in the middle of camp and sleep by the pit, happy as a pig in shit.

Because Dad and Pak don't seem to believe in fire. Or tents. Or like…any sort of shelter. We spend our days on the raft, floating in the icy waters as Dad takes us somewhere. I have no idea where. At night, we head to shore to sleep on the open sands. It all sucks. It's horrible and cold and miserable and wet. I try making fire several times, only for Dad to either put it out or to slap the rocks out of my hand when I try to make a spark. I get the idea, eventually, but it pisses me off. It's clear they don't want to be found and a fire will give off smoke. But I do want to be found, so I pocket a pair of striking rocks and stuff tinder into my bra when they're not paying attention, and I look for opportunities to get away. When I shiver at night, my teeth chattering, Pak sneaks over to my side and burrows his small body against me, sharing warmth. I snuggle with him, stroking his hair, and I feel bad for the kid. His dad loves him, that much is obvious, but this is no way to live.

On day three, there's raw tentacles for a meal again, courtesy of Pak's fishing skills. It's literally the worst thing I've ever tasted, but I can't complain, because there's simply nothing else to eat. Oh, sure, every once in a while we vary it up with some raw fish, but they seem to be against the idea of cooking anything. There's an abundant supply of snow, at least, and we're able to eat handfuls of it to quench our thirst when there's no spring of fresh water available.

It's a miserable existence, and I'm not sure how Pak and his dad have survived like this for so long. I point this out, too. Not that they listen or can understand me. "I'm just saying," I continue for what must be the hundredth time that day. "Cooked food is delicious. And you know what else is delicious? Being warm. It's the tits. And I'll even handle all the fire. You won't have to lift a finger."

But of course, blank stares meet my gaze.

I sigh.

I don't try to run away again. Dad will just drug me with more leaves, and I don't know where I am, anyhow. I'm also getting very run-down and tired from not being able to sleep. Dad and Pak seem to be just fine with wearing nothing but some tattered leaves, but I'm constantly chilled. My clothes still feel damp, my fingers and toes are numb, and even Pak's small body curling up against mine at night doesn't stop my teeth from chattering. If my clothes were warm, that'd be one thing. If they were dry, I could handle the cold. But cold and damp is an awful combination, and I suspect I'd be sick with hypothermia if I didn't have a cootie.

On the morning of the fourth day, Dad pulls out his raft and indicates we should get onto it again, and I break.