She turned and began inspecting gear she’d checked a dozen times already. Masaru lifted his hand, fingers hovering a breath away from her skin. Looking up, he finally noticed his daughter’s presence.
Bloodshot eyes stared across the gulf between now and the days when she was a little girl, small enough to ride on his shoulders through forests of tall bamboo. She and her brother, little fingers wrapped in their father’s fists, laughing bright and clear as they danced in the dappled light.
Too long ago—the memory faded and blurred like an old lithograph, colors muted over time until all that was left was an impression; a half-image on yellowed, curling paper.
He turned and walked away without a word.
Dirty gray snow lay in a blanket on the ground, crunching beneath their hessian-wrapped feet and crouching in thick drifts across bare branches. Yukiko and Satoru darted through the bamboo, Buruu barking with joy, sending the few winter larks that remained in the valley spiraling up into the falling snowflakes.
Their father had been home for a few days, gifting them both with small compasses before he disappeared again. Tiny wheels whirled soundlessly beneath the glass, tracking the path of the hidden sun overhead. They would run into the wilds, straying further each day, finding their way back unerringly before dusk. Then they would sit by the fire, Buruu lying across their feet, listening to their mother sing and dreaming of their father’s return.
Happy.
Buruu would wag his tail at them, fire reflected in his eyes, tongue lolling. Love you both.
They were on the northern ridge that day, high above the bamboo valley, looking down on the frozen stream, the tiny waterfall of icicles spilling over snow-capped rock. Black, naked trees stood tall on a blanket of bleached gray, sleeping in the chill and dreaming of the beauty that would arrive with spring. The children called out their names and heard the mountain kami call them back, fading away into the distance like the last notes of their mother’s songs.
The wolf was hungry, lean, ribs showing through its coat, legs like sticks. A rogue descending from the mountains with a growling belly and a jagged mind alight with their scent. Buruu caught the smell of it on the breeze, hackles rising, ears flat against his head as he growled. Satoru reached out and touched its mind, feeling only bloodlust, terrible and complete, pounding with a rhythm like a pulse. The wolf circled to the left and the children began to back away, urging Buruu to be calm. Satoru leaned down to grasp a small club of wet wood.
It moved in a blur, savage, sleek, hunger propelling it at Yukiko’s throat. She held out her hand and screamed, pushing it away with the Kenning as Buruu launched himself like an arrow. The wolf and the dog fell on each other, all teeth and claws and awful screaming sounds. Buruu fought bravely, but his bones were old and the wolf was fierce, driven by desperate hunger to spend its last strength in this final, bloody gambit. She felt Buruu’s pain as the wolf ’s jaws closed around his throat, tearing away crimson mouthfuls, spattering on the bed of gray snow in long bright ribbons.
She screamed in anger, in hatred, pushing her mind into the wolf ’s, feeling for its life, the source of its spark. She felt Satoru in there beside her, his rage fiercer than her own, and together they pressed down on the heat, snuffing it out like a candle, smothering it with their rage. Blood spilled from their noses as the pressure flooded their brains, warm and salty on their lips. They wrapped their hands together and strangled until nothing remained, darkness fading away into a whimper as the wolf folded down inside itself and ended upon the frost.
They sat beside poor old Buruu, lay on his wet, heaving flanks as the ashen snow turned red around him. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they felt him slipping. Not afraid, but sad. Sad to leave them, to let them wander in the world alone. They were his pack, they were his everything, and he licked their hands and wheezed, wishing he did not have to go.
Love you. Love you both.
As the darkness took him, they held him close, safe and warm, and whispered that they loved him too. That they would love him always. That they would remember.
He was too heavy for them to carry. And so they stood, hand in hand, watching the snow bury him. One flake at a time, falling from the poisoned skies and covering him like a shroud. Their friend. Their brother. Lying in a pool of dark red, brown fur spattered and torn, black and empty inside his mind.