Life

Silvan opened his eyes.

Only the song of the earliest birds challenged the darkness in the cabin. As his vision adjusted and his body rose from its unconscious state, the frigid air biting at his face was the first thing he noticed.

This was his third year out here. No matter how many more might come, this would likely remain the one thing he would never grow fond of, especially when winter finally settled in.

He pushed himself out of bed and crossed to the stove. He had fed it with two extra logs before turning in, but the greedy flames had devoured them long before waking. Using an iron rod, he pushed the ashes aside until the surviving embers greeted him with their faint glow.

He added fuel from his shrinking stack of firewood and blew gently until the fire caught. Fresh snowfall went into a pot and onto the stove. He had learned to cherish his fire. Keeping embers alive saved effort, and heat was never its only purpose. Cooking, drying clothes, curing water. Indispensable for survival this far out.

Crouched in front of the crackling stove, he warmed his hands and thought, briefly, of the simple luxury of turning a dial to heat an apartment.

Soon he was drinking hot coffee while scrambling eggs seasoned with dried herbs and mushrooms he’d hung in autumn. The remaining water was used to wash himself with a cloth, wiping away the night’s sweat as sunlight streamed into the cabin, announcing the day.

He slipped on his clothes that rested near the stove overnight, eyeing the many jars and cans lined on shelves he had built himself, his mind already planning for supper, while his feet enjoyed the soft texture of thick furs placed on the ground and near windows to keep the cold at bay.

He stepped into his stiff boots and went out. There was work to be done. Snares to check, wood to haul, and other things. The first order of business, however, waited a little higher up the mountain, at the end of a narrow trail.
He lifted a trap from the pile of logs he used as a bench and sat, watching the sunrise over his coffee.

“This is the life,” he said quietly, as if daring anyone to disagree.

Approaching the second-to-last snare, he finally found a catch.
A hare struggled weakly, dangling from one leg. Just as Urho had taught him, Silvan knelt beside it and thanked the animal for its sacrifice. The words were sincere, even if the intent was not. Urho had insisted, and Silvan saw no reason not to indulge his only friend out here.

“Is that all you need?”

A female voice came from behind him.

Silvan’s heart began to race.
“Sila,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

She did not meet his gaze. Her attention remained fixed on the hare.

He followed her eyes, and the question settled. He stopped himself from filling her in on his rotten luck and thought of something more cool to say.

“I only take what’s necessary,” he said.

Her smile at that remark was enough to drown any bad feelings lying usually entailed.

“So,” he added quickly, “what are you doing out here?”

Sila considered.
“Making my rounds.”

Silence followed.

She had never spoken much, and without company, neither had he. The silence was palpable.

Think, Silvan. Say something. Or she’ll be gone again.

He opened his mouth, but his thoughts stalled as he looked at her. The dark pearly hair, fair skin and lips red as fresh blood. A description that reminded him of a childhood story.

“How are you doing?” she asked. “Anything troubling you?”

Dammit, he thought. He missed his chance. She always ended their conversations this way.
“No,” he said. “Nothing so far. It feels colder than last year, but nothing I can’t handle.”

She smiled again, her gaze moving over him, lingering on mended straps and new trinkets.
“Good,” she said. “You’re doing well. Keep it up.”

Without looking at him once, she turned and followed her own footprints back up the trail.

His heart raced. Before he could stop himself, he called out.
“Sila! Wait!”

She turned, curiosity flickering across her face, but said nothing.

“I was wondering if you’d want to have dinner with me.”

She paused.
“You want to share your food,” she said slowly. “With me?”

“I…” He faltered. “Yes. That’s one way to put it.”

“Why?”

The question was sharp. The wind rose suddenly, snow stinging him like weightless needles.

He steadied himself. Now was the time to be confident.

“I just want to do something nice for you,” he said. “And… get to know you better.”

The hostility ebbed, but disappointment took its place. Sila never hid what she felt.

She met his eyes at last.

“This is your hunt,” she said. “Honor it by staying strong. You don’t know when you’ll need that strength.”

Silvan watched her silhouette until it vanished into white, trodding off himself after.

Walking on autopilot, he replayed the conversation again and again. Eventually, he reached the last trap and stopped.

Footprints approached it.
Then turned away.

“Great,” he muttered, grinding his teeth. “Just what I needed.”

He made sure the trap was still functional before heading back, but hesitated. In the far reaches of his mind, Urho's teachings echoed. Annoyed and impatient, he turned and began dismantling the contraption.

“The things you do for friends.”