The Breach

Even in the highest mountains and the harshest winds, she had never been afraid of any snowstorm. She could feel the plants underneath her feet, dormant but alive, leading the way back home. She lived hidden deep within the black spruce and balsam fir, shielded unless you knew where to look, but everywhere nature existed was her domain, for she saw and recognized life itself, large or small - she coexisted with the animals, neither living with them nor avoiding them, because she understood that they were the same. 

Once she had known others of her kind, for surely she had not emerged fully-formed from the snow, but the never-ending white of her first winter had wiped all traces of others from her memory. She did not remember her name (if indeed she had had one) and at any rate there was no one to call her by it, as some instinct kept her away from the concrete remnants of civilization that dotted the shore. When the snow began to fall she slept with bears and wove their fur into her fraying cloak, and she was not unhappy; but she lived for summer, when she could collect and preserve the stalks of herbs used to bind the wounds of her animal friends, and the birds visited her hollow in the woods to take soapberries from her outstretched hands. One of them even stayed one winter, then another, until quite despite herself she began to think of him as hers. 

Her bird was curious, and more adventurous than she had ever seen any animal behave. He often flitted ahead of her while she was foraging, twittering to let her know where he was, sometimes flying back to drop a sprig of berries into her hands, and day after day his ever-present whistling pierced the forest. The moment it stopped, she knew immediately that something was wrong. She turned, hands still muddied from where she'd been pulling up a root, and met the gaze of a man, dark eyes staring steadily back at her. 

She had seen the locals only from afar — dark-skinned and weathered, almost always carrying guns over their shoulders. This man was weaponless, but she knew him. She had treated the animals he had failed to catch. In terror, she turned to run, but the man lunged forward as quick as a fish, snatching the hem of her dress, and they both fell to the ground in a heap. She had kicked herself free and was scrambling to her feet when he cried out. She froze, because she understood, as she understood the bison and the sable and the lynx, what he was saying. Nature spirit, he was pleading, over and over, nature spirit, my wife is dying. Please save her.

This she recognized. This was something she knew, and she did not hesitate before she took his hand, looked into his shining eyes, and said, Yes, I will heal her. 

His face cracked wide open with agony, and she knew the pain was mirrored on her own face. But a fierce joy spread through her in the same instant, lighting up her bones with energy that very nearly eclipsed the hurt she felt when the man stepped back, clutching his wrist, and did not touch her again. 

Things moved quickly after that. He led her with sure steps not to one of the concrete dwellings, but a small wooden cabin. The door hung ajar as he pushed it open for her, and she knelt to lay a hand on the woman's forehead, bright and inflamed with fever despite the wet cloth draped over her. Her lungs rattled with the wet gurgle she recognized from the elk bull, who had been unable to stand up for hours even after the wound in his side had healed over, huffing and kicking his legs until his proud head finally went slack as he died. She had not understood why she had failed then, but now she knew better. She pulled back the thick blanket covering the woman and placed her fingers across her chest, feeling for what she already knew, before drawing back and meeting the man's desperate eyes.

I can heal her, she said, in the all-knowing tongue she was not yet aware of possessing, but I'll need time. 

-

She stayed all throughout the night, determined to see the woman healed before she left. The man hovered at her shoulder, making quiet pained gasps beside her each time the woman stopped breathing, but she was barely aware of him as her hands moved across the prone body, bolstering her strength as she fought against the infection. The process was long and difficult, nothing like the punctures and broken limbs she had helped animals with before, and the sun had already crested the horizon by the time the woman gave a slow sigh and rolled onto her side, blankets and clothes soaked with sweat but breathing evenly once again. 

She stood up, flexing her fingers, and looked around. The man had left at some point, though she'd been so intent on healing the woman she hadn't even noticed. She pushed open the door of the cabin, intent on feeling the cool air against her face, but she had barely taken three steps before something dark slapped her in the face. She pushed it away, dazed, and felt the webbing of the net across her fingers. She struggled and gasped, futilely clawing against her binds, before she saw the large steel vehicle parked some distance away, half-hidden by the forest. 

Three burly men stepped out of its side and headed towards her. The one in front held a thin white gun in his arms, but after glancing her over he turned around and waved the other two over. They hoisted her up unceremoniously between them by the net, ignoring her attempts to kick them in the face, and even as she thrashed she saw something that made her still in disbelief and betrayal. The man was staring at her, his hand on the door of the cottage. His dark eyes were unreadable, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line.

Why? she cried out. Why? I helped you!

And you took something from me, he said, and under her stunned gaze he lifted his right arm and pulled the sleeve down. On the underside of his wrist, just over the pulse point, lay a twisted, blackened circle. 

She opened her mouth - to scream or cry out, she didn't know - but the men swiftly pushed her into the back of the vehicle, and her sight went black.