Ice-Bound Promise [Wattys 2023 Shortlister]

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The storm had eased enough for Únik to make the short journey to her home. The other sled dogs had barked and howled as she approached and barked and howled as she had left to return to the rendering hut. They were a hardy breed and had huddled together during the storm, snow piled across them. Now, as the storm began to pass, they wanted to work, to pull the sled and ease cold stiffened legs. Not quite yet, Únik decided. But soon.

Inside the rendering hut, she found Barsa sat before the door and Hatyara sat as far from him as she could within the tight confines of the space. As soon as Únik reentered, the girl gave her a withering scowl. Únik didn't give the girl the pleasure of a reaction, only tossing a pile of furs and string at the girl's feet.

"That beast growled at me. If we were at court, I'd have it chained." The girl looked down at the furs at her feet, stepping away as though in fear of them. "And what's that? They look disgusting."

"You tried to leave. Barsa protected you." Dropping her hand, Únik rubbed the dog's large head. "I have nothing in your size. Wrap and tie those furs. A child shouldn't wear such clothing. Not in this weather."

Hesitant, the girl picked up one of the strips of fur between dainty fingers, lifting it to her nose. The short sniff caused her to drop the fur, retching and lifting her hand to her nose. That almost made Únik laugh. The furs were new, only recently cured and the smell would last a little longer. It was either the girl wore the furs, or she would feel the cold grip of death once again.

"They stink! Worse than you and this hovel!" The girl tried to regain her composure, lifting her chin in defiance. "I'll not wear them! And I'm not a child. How old are you?"

"I reached thirty-eight summers, this year." Wondering where the question was leading, Únik ignored the girl's protests about the furs, crouching to arrange them ready to wear.

"Thirty-eight summers? I reached maturity twenty years before you were born. You're the child, here, not me." Hatyara stepped away as Únik raised a strip of fur towards her leg, swatting it away with her hand. "I will not wear that filthy material!"

"Then you'll die." Rising, Únik scratched her dark, almost black hair. She had known the girl, the woman, she supposed, for less than a day and already she wished she didn't. "There's a hunter. An old teacher of mine. Half-a-day away by sled. He'll take you to town. For the promise of coin. But, you need winter wear."

"Why do you talk like that? In short sentences? You sound like an idiot attempting communication for the first time." With the tip of her slippered foot, Hatyara pushed the furs away from her, grimacing as though touching the furs would contaminate her. "Speak correctly, or not at all! And, no, you will take me. I cannot trust anyone else and you haven't tried to kill me, so I choose to trust you and you alone."

Únik hadn't realised how she spoke. She saw people in such irregular intervals, spending most of her days alone, out here in the wastes, that she rarely found use for talking. She would say the occasional things to her dogs, speak to few people when she did visit the nearest village. The rest of the time she spent in silence, hearing only her own thoughts and the howling, whistling winds.

The girl, and no matter what Hatyara said, she looked like a girl to Únik, continued to stare with suspicion at the furs. Únik could force her to wear the furs, sit on her chest, if she must, until she managed to tie the furs onto the girl's tiny body, but she doubted they would stay on for long. The girl needed to decide to wear them.

"I'll not take you to town! The village or the hunter. Your choice." Looking at the strip of fur in her hand, she threw it at the girl, watching as it bounced from the girl's chest to land in a rumpled pile on the floor. "Wear the damned furs! Barsa! Guard!"