Page 16 of Winter’s Teeth

“Uh... Where are you going?”

I turned around. “What?” My defensive hackles rose.

“That’s not the way back.”

“Yes, it is,” I said, feeling quite certain.

Fox’s brows lifted slightly, almost imperceptible with half his face cast in shadows and his knit cap sitting low on his head. After a moment, he followed me without another word.

We wandered on for what had to be half a mile but seemed like ten. The only sounds breaking up the white noise of windless air rustling the leaves were our crunching footsteps and the occasional owl hoot in the distance.

No birds, no insects, nothing.

Granted, it was the dead of winter in January, and there wasn’t much out at night at this time, but it was eerie just how silent things had grown. Like the forest itself refused to release its breath.

Not a single nocturnal thing stirred, and I knew enough about the woods to know that wasn’t normal. Where were the scavenging raccoons? Deer making their way to a place to bed down? Rodents rustling around in their dens...

Nothing.

My throat tightened, and my ears strained to pick up on any signs of life—from my sister or otherwise.

A half mile in, and I had yet to sense anything other than ourselves. I stopped to listen, the both of us holding our breath, but it proved futile when only the chilled air of the forest whispered in my ears, punctuated by the hard pounding of my heartbeats.

As we continued, my icicle toes proved problematic, unfeeling as I trudged on. Feeling like my blood had congealed in my veins, my steps became sluggish, and sluggish steps in the dark usually led to—

“Ow!”

My toe caught on a hidden root in the gravel, and my whole ankle turned with a loud pop.

I went down, hands flying out to brace myself, gravel digging in through my thin gloves to pierce my skin.

I didn’t know which pain to focus on—my hands still reverberating with shock from the fall, or my ankle which was definitely not at the right angle.

Hands slipped under my armpits, lifting me straight up before I had time to process it all. I half expected him to start dusting me off like a little kid and telling me you’re fine, it’s fine, don’t cry, nothing’s hurt.

Except something was most definitely hurt.

I bit down on my lower lip hard enough to taste iron and squeezed my hands into fists to counteract the pain building to a crescendo in my foot. A whimper worked its way up my throat, turning to a keen whine of pain that bordered on a scream.

Fox’s eyes scanned me over, and when I failed to put any weight on my left foot, he let out a huff. “You twisted it good.”

I exploded. “You think!?”

The already dead silent forest stilled even more, echoing with my shriek of pain and annoyance.

“I swear to everything good and holy, if this ankle is broken and I can’t join the search parties tomorrow, I’m going to—What the hell are you doing?”

Fox had turned his back to me, squatting down like we were about to play leapfrog in the dark.

“Fox!”

“Just shut up and get on.”

His back. He wants you to get on his back.

I stared at his back for several seconds, debating if I could get out of this, but then a twig snapped—probably just a noisy squirrel, right?—and I hopped on without any more fuss.

His hands slid under my thighs, and I exhaled deeply when I realized how warm they were through my leggings that had long since lost all my residual body heat. Then he was up on his feet, walking back the way we came.