A Deadly Bite

21 || Underwater

Edita's prediction comes true. I wake from a fitful sleep to discover white flakes already dappling my hair. By midday, snow crunches beneath my feet and swirls in a persistent flurry around me, filling the skies with streaks of white, the rocky path all but concealed. It glistens, untouched as far as I can see. A miracle crafted for the two of us and no other.

I want so desperately to appreciate it, to see only its beauty and its perfection, and yet I can feel that desire slipping through my fingers as easily as melting ice.

Snow is beautiful, but it is also freezing.

Clutching my forearm, I rub at it in an attempt to scrape away the frost sewn into the bare skin, though I know by now that it is futile. My glove is no less frozen. My hands escape the full bite of the icy air, yet there is little heat buried within them. I haven't touched warmth all day. More snowflakes land on my shoulders, soaking into my tunic, and I shiver beneath them, my step nearly faltering. Joy is a faraway notion despite my attempt to reach for it.

It's resentment that swells up in my chest and bitters my throat in its stead. My stomach twists, a sick, watery sensation clenching it tight. I squeeze my arm tighter and force myself to ignore the feeling, but it persists.

Tears fill my eyes without warning. Stumbling over an incline buried beneath the snow, I swipe a hand over my face. Everything is so cold and wet that the tears simply mix in with it all. I bite down on my tongue until it hurts, hating all of it, hating the frustration sticking to my jaw like acid. Today wasn't supposed to be like this. These thoughts were supposed to fade and crumble, trampled beneath my strengthened will to survive. Instead the awful, endless urge to peel away my skin, to scratch away the cold with claws of my own, shudders within the frost. Beneath it all, agony is a snarling beast, gnawing incessantly along with the fireless pit in my stomach. Its roar rings only with the sound of despair.

I wanted today to be better, and yet it's worse than it's ever been.

I sniff. The sound must somehow be enough to cut through the howl of the snowy gales, for Edita stops up ahead, sending a scatter of snow flying as she spins on her heels. Her eyes widen, and she's upon me in seconds. She traverses the terrain with the ease of some sprightly animal, while I can barely drag myself after her.

Breath caught against the threat of a sob, I stare down at my feet. A raw redness has crept across them in favour of the pale colour that might blend them with the snow. The cuts left by yesterday's rocky ledges sting in the freezing damp. I swallow hard, stiff against her touch as she lays a hand on my shoulder.

"Is there something wrong?"

Everything is wrong. I could laugh at the melodrama of the thought, though I only shake my head. "Just... just the pain." My voice comes out thick, the words sticking together. I wipe my nose with my glove. "It's fine, really. Keep going. I--I'm just being silly."

Her arms close around me. The embrace is quick, a tight squeeze that releases before the ache in my ribs can translate to a squeak of protest. Her gaze is pointed when she draws back, only a small, probing amusement shifting within them. "You feel a constant agony that is slowly killing you, and you call it silly?"

There's some lightness to her voice that pushes at the base of my heart, the sensation of a few tattered, tickling feathers attempting to form themselves into wings. They're destined to fail, and yet a brief smile flickers over my lips. "I... I suppose when you put it that way..."

"You are allowed to admit you are suffering, you know." Her expression droops, fangs dug into her lip as she looks to the side. "I... wish I could do something about it, but all I can say is that we must keep moving." Her fingers lace with mine. "Can you do that?"