Staying Warm

	The wind bit into me like thousands of icy teeth, cutting beneath my cloak, my leathers, my own fur coat and skin, settling into my body as a weakening, dull ache.  My extremities were becoming alien to me, glancing down at my glove confirmed for me that my fingers were stiffly moving, but that was the only way I could tell.  Ice clung to my whiskers, and my breath billowed before me like some dying dragon, weaker with each puff.
	Realistically, I wasn’t going to die, of course.  I was safely aboard a ship in good company – albeit a ship caught up in the ice of the Kadrush Sea.  This place and I were new to one another, this was the first season I’d ever spent in the frozen north, and though I’d thought at the outset that as one of the few crew members who came from Carvecia, I’d be accustomed to the cold weather, I had vastly underestimated what they’d meant when they said ‘cold’.
	The winters at home (it was odd to think of my valley as ‘home’ now, after having spent so long away from it) were bitter, fierce and hungry. . . but they were temporary.  This was a land of perpetual cold and ice.  The only difference with the turning of the seasons was how much ice, and how little the sun graced the land with its presence.  This was truly dead country, a term Ransom used to use for places in western Carvecia where nothing but scrub grass grew.  Nothing grew here, or likely ever had, or would.  This was the top of the world, the sailors had explained to me.  And just like some of the mountains back home that reached for the sky, here, the winter never truly left.  
	How trading up here could be worth it, I couldn’t imagine.  Granted, we hadn’t bet on getting locked in by the ice, the channel was supposed to be clear another month when we’d tried to make the passage.  If that had been the case, we’d have been moored in the northern Kadrush lands, not out here on the sea.  I’m not sure how much better that would have been.  But at the very least, we wouldn’t be risking the ship tipping with the ice swells.  Our guides assured us that very few ships had ever been capsized by the ice in these parts.  But if any could manage it, it would be the aging Manoratha.
	It had been nearly a month now.  We were well-provisioned, the men had had success ice fishing, and if worst came to worst, we could break into our goods to wait out the winter.  But spirits were low.  The cold, and the blinding white apathy of this place, so unaware and uncaring that we were here and alive, could bring anyone to dismal thinking.
	Even Grayson.
	The wolf’s mad-eyed, rambunctious younger years were behind him, and it had finally begun to show.  All at once.  It was as though the Manoratha’s plight followed in the wake of his own, the two were linked inextricably, it seemed.  In my culture, we would have called it his spirit.  It was odd to think of an object, a vessel of wood, pitch and canvas as being the beating heart of a man given shape, but so it was.
	Grayson had always been ill.  This fact had grown harder and harder to hide as the years had passed.  And it wasn’t the usual maladies of a sailor, this was more devastating, more haunting. . . he’d been born with it.  Puck had called it a ‘condition’.  The spirit-speakers back home would have called it a curse.  What it ultimately was didn’t matter.  What mattered was that it had plagued him his entire life, and over the last few years, it had become clear it would soon kill him.  And even Grayson Reed was not immune to existential dread.
	Perhaps that’s why we were here.  Though being trapped in the ice had clearly not been his plan, Grayson had mentioned there was an old friend he dearly wished to see in the Kadrush port we were headed for.  The barrels of black powder and grain we were trafficking were an excuse.
	He knew this might be the last season he could make this trip.  I hadn’t fought him on it, and neither had his crew.
	The seizures were getting worse, and far more frequent.  I had to walk with him any time he was anywhere near the water, or the railings of his own ship.  The true irony was that despite his condition, and despite being 47, he was otherwise healthy and fit.  He was fine. . . until he wasn’t.  I’d talked to him about the idea of going back to Carvecia with me, of course.  See Puck, or another skilled physician, try to minimize the dangers in his life and perhaps curtail the worsening symptoms.  But that wasn’t Grayson Reed.  He’d run from a safe life long ago, knowing the cost it could take from him.  Living on dry land would kill him faster than the disease, he said.  He was probably right.
	He would laugh dryly about it sometimes, and comment that at least he wasn’t malingering.  That he’d die relatively young and gorgeous, and when the worst of the seizures came, it would take him swiftly.  But that was, like most of his bluster, just talk.  I knew, as anyone who watched over him knew, that the seizures were painful, and terrifying.  Any one could take him from this world, at any time, and he would not go quietly.
	And with the Manoratha similarly seized, caught in the grip of a static, unmoving sea, anathema to the freedom it stood for to all of us on board, its Admiral had seemingly aged a decade in a few short weeks.  He kept to his quarters, the icy winds ensuring the planks of his own ship were not safe enough for him to venture out (any slip and fall could be dangerous for him now).  His muzzle was speckled with gray, some of the silver strands creeping even up over his ears and in the long tapestries of his dreadlocks.  His features were sharper, eyes deeper and more thoughtful than ever I’d seen them. 
	He’d never looked more regal to me.  And I’d told him as much.  It had earned me a weary smile.
	I suppose some women prefer their men young and bright-eyed, and I can understand why.  But there had been something truly profound about watching the wolf’s transformation over the years, and seeing him settle from all piss and vinegar to a more tempered wisdom had only endeared me to him further.  The tragedy of it of course was, he’d likely not have much time to reap the rewards of his experiences in old age.  And I’d have less time with this different version of the man.
	The inevitable, I was prepared for.  I had, of course, been through it before.
	Not that there’s any real way to prepare for it, of course.  But I’d endured once, and I would again.  And at least this time, we knew to make the most of our time.
	With those thoughts in my mind, I drifted back towards our shared quarters, navigating the icy planks with outstretched claws on my footpaws, looking skyward now and again in hopes I’d see any sign that the world I knew existed.  All there was – anywhere – was hazy white.  The distant, dim shape of the sun was little more than a diffused lantern, half sunk below the horizon.  It would never even fully rise today.
	I grabbed at the handle of our door and forced the nob to turn until the icy sheen on it crackled and broke.  Before I went inside, I gave the strange, still world one last huff of breath.  To hell with this place.  It was taking our time from us, and it didn’t give a damn we were here.  Everywhere else in the world that I’d traveled so far, I’d felt some connection.  Some sense of meaning, of my place in it.
	Here, if I died, I couldn’t even rot.  Perhaps I could feed whatever beasts somehow managed to survive on the glaciers.  It’s not that there was anything particularly evil or malignant about these lands. . . they just existed, with no solicitude for the needs of life.  The Kadrush simply was.
	There was a beauty in that, I suppose.  This place would likely remain unchanged, no matter the ravages of war or colonization.  It was too fierce to be tamed.
	I closed the door behind me, welcoming the warmth and the closed-in scents of the Admiral’s Quarters.  So, so long ago, I’d come into this very same room, a woman on the run from her past, unable to claim even my own name for fear of the demons that followed it.  I’d been Shivah then, and even now, he still called me that sometimes.  But I was Alongsaa once again.  It was on this very ship that I’d reclaimed myself, wrested my freedom away from the spirit of revenge that I’d fostered and festered inside of me.  And this ship was how I’d rebuilt myself as well, not backwards to the woman I’d once been – never backwards – but forwards into a life I’d not even had the perspective to imagine in my youth.
	There were likely few women in the world who’d seen as much of it as I had.  Not many Captains would have made the concessions Grayson had, to keep a woman on their ship.  A working ship, at that.  I was not a passenger here.  I was a bodyguard, sailor, explorer.  I’d been a revolutionary in a foreign land, and seen change sweep across an ancient country steeped in tradition.  I’d fought, bartered, and stolen, and alongside many other unwanteds, I’d made my way.  
	In time, I would at long last go home.  I would return to my Valley.  But for now . . . .
	“All it takes is a moment of that door swinging open to let the cold in,” his voice echoes from deep inside the beautiful mess that is this place, a creaking realm of ancient wood and various trophies from our travels and conquests.  None of it is truly valuable, but all is invaluable, to us and only us.  A complex and aged tapestry from an infamous Huudari Brothel hangs as a curtain between the cluttered living space and his bedroom, the worn, multicolored fabric depicting a dancing jackal.  I can see his figure outlined behind, a shadow cast by the lantern on the other side.  His glass ornaments, strung from the ceiling here and there, cast dancing lights about the room, flickering with the pulse of the lantern flame.
	I pad across the room, breathing in the smell of the place, with all of its familiar comfort and nostalgia. . . .
	. . . and sadness.  Not merely for the future, but for the stories this place holds, and those we’ve already lost.  But sadness, too, is a part of this life I love.  And much like the cold makes one yearn to be warm, the absence of those we lose is a reminder to bask in their warmth while they’re still with us.
	I push back the curtain, smiling at the wolf as I take in the sight of him.  He’s reclining easily in his disheveled bed, propped up against far too many pillows, his big paws poking out from beneath several layers of blankets.  His winter coat is in thick now, lending his bare chest a leafy, silver-flecked elegance that makes him look far more handsome than a man with his grooming habits has any right to be.  
	He’s reading, of all things.  Not that Grayson is uneducated, he was born to a rich family of trade magnates and, I’ve learned over the years, can read and speak most of four languages.  And with our current condition, there isn’t much to do really to occupy one’s time.  The book looks Huudari, which means he’s puzzling his way through it.  Their alphabet is complex.  
	He seems glad for the reprieve, and tosses the book aside onto the mountain of other amusements he’s gathered on his bedside table.  I shrug off my cloak and leathers and crawl my way under the blankets with him.  He makes room for me with a tender look, his big, rough paw settling around my side as he tugs me in close against him.
	“You’re so warm,” I purr, closing my eyes a moment as I snuggle in against his fur.  I press the cup of my ear against his chest, his heartbeat a comfort. 
	“I’m doing my very best to stay that way, unlike you,” he teases, nosing the crown of my head.  “I don’t understand why you keep going outside.  Do you expect in half a night’s time for the ice to have moved?”
	“Maybe,” I admit petulantly.  “At the very least, I want to know the moment it does, and I suspect you do as well.”
	“I have my men keep a watch for that,” he reminds me.  
	“Then again, maybe I don’t want the ship to be freed,” I glance upwards.  “So long as we’re stuck here, I’ll know exactly where to find you, and I’ll have you all to myself.”
	“I think I may guarantee you that you’ll always know exactly where to find me, for my remaining days,” he says, in a tone that a few years ago, I would have thought jesting, gallows humor.  But things being as they are, I think it’s actually more of a promise.  He’d long joked about disappearing, when the end began drawing near for him.  That he’d steal away on some small sailing ship, off on some last insane voyage, and make a legend of himself.
	But he’s already a legend.  Perhaps not for the reasons he’d anticipated, but we don’t get to write our own stories.  At best, we weigh in a little, and hope we’re remembered for one or two of the things we most prized in ourselves.  Grayson and I, for instance, could not have ever imagined some of the battles we were destined to fight, the enemies we were to face, and the lives we were to change.  His quarters were an atlas of our journeys, and a reminder to me in particular that even if we don’t always become what we set out to be, the unexpected adventures can be some of the most fulfilling.  
	He gives me that big wolfish smile, his eyes as fathomless blue as the ocean in the dark room, pupils blown wide.  And I have to laugh.  
	“You’re so in love with me,” I taunt.  “If your men only knew.”
	“If they don’t know by now, I’d be mightily ashamed of them,” he sniffs.  “I’m as transparent as. . .” He pauses, “. . . well, I was going to say the ice that’s got us locked in, but it’s actually-“
	“Blue,” I shake my head in wonderment.  “I’ve seen plenty of ice in my life, but never like the kind in this place.  The color, the shapes, the way it crackles and groans . . . .”
	“Aye, it’s something else,” he agrees, leaning back into his pillows.  “Lonely and treacherous, to be sure, but there is no other sight like it on earth.”
	I’m silent for a time.  At length, my paw tracing patterns on his chest, I murmur, “I know we’re losing time here.  But, I’m still glad we came.”
	“I’ve a promise to keep,” he says, referring to his friend again, I’m sure.  But then he looks to me.  “And as you said, at least we’ve all this time to ourselves.”
	“And here we are wasting it,” I purr at him, curling a leg around his hip and shimmying up over top of him.  I get a hint of his canines as he grins at me and growls playfully, and before long, I’m on my back, wrestling the oversized wolf.  We’re honestly more than a match for one another, despite the size difference.  He’s twice my weight, but he’s also wildly ticklish, I’ve discovered over the years.  Also, he just sucks at wrestling.
	“Nononono-!” He abandons trying to pin me in breathless laughter, as my dexterous fingers comb through the fur along his abdomen, seeking out his sides.  He buckles, clutching and curling in on himself as I go after his most vulnerable areas, tail lashing wildly against my thighs as I move up between them, now forcing him down into the bed.
	And as it turns out, right off of it.  With the ridiculous pile of blankets and pillows he’s amassed, it’s really hard to tell where the bed begins and ends.  We topple, or rather more slide, down to the ground with a resounding thud, and for a moment I can’t catch my breath for laughing.
	It’s only when I realize I’m not hearing him laughing any more that I begin to worry.  My heart skips a beat in my chest – it had been a light fall, onto a floor cushioned with fallen blankets, but still-
	But then he does laugh, just a soft ‘heh’, and I lift myself up on my hands and knees over him to confirm.  He seems fine, no glazed-off look, no tremors.  Just a tired smile.
	“Are you seeing lines?”  I ask all the same, cupping the ruff along his cheek.
	It’s testament to how critical the situation’s gotten that he takes me seriously, his grin falling away and his eyes searching blankly for a few moments, for the telltale shapes only he can see.
	“. . . no.”  He says at length.  “I’m fine.”
	I let out a long breath.  “Damnit, I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry. . . .”
	“Stop,” he assures me, his eyes fixing on mine.  Then a few moments later, emphatically.  “Please stop.”
	“I’m not going to stop worrying about you,” I whisper.  “I could never live with myself if-“
	“Nothing controls this disease,” he repeats the words he’s stated so many times now.  “Even Puquanah said as much.  Nothing can cure it, nothing can control it.  It does as it wills.”
	“But there are stressers-“
	“I think you mean ‘life’ in general,” he says dryly.  “And you know my feelings on that.  I’ve lived a full life, Alongsaa.  If I’d spent the whole of it avoiding ‘stressers’, it would have been empty.  I wouldn’t have this ship, or the journeys I’ve had with her.  I wouldn’t have met you-“
	“I know,” I say bitterly, glancing aside.  I can feel my eyes stinging.  Even now, even in front of him, a man who would never once fault a soul for crying, I hate it.  I’ve done so much crying.  A lifetime’s worth and then some.
	He leans down, his big muzzle covering mine, breathing his warmth into me.  Grayson always breathes out when he kisses you, like a sigh.  Somehow despite the fact that he’s the one dying, it feels for all the world like he’s breathing life into me.
	I don’t want to lose him.
	I curl my arms up around him, my fingers entangling in his ragged mane, pulling myself up against his encompassing figure.
	I don’t want to lose him.  I don’t want to lose him.  This isn’t fair.
	He isn’t the one who’s the most scared by all of this.  It’s me.  It’s always been me.
	I don’t want to lose him.  I’ll survive losing him.  But it’s so hard to be strong . . . even when you know you can soldier on.  Even when you’ve done it before.  It’s such a normal, mundane part of life. . . outliving the people you love.  It happens to all of us.  But it’s just.  So.  Hard.
	I squeeze my eyes shut tight, gripping him so tightly now, I know he’ll feel it.  He doesn’t say anything, though.  He just pulls me in closer.  He knows.
	“I’m scared, too,” he murmurs quietly.  He pulls up enough that we’re nose to nose, his gaze sinking into mine.  “But when it happens, you’ll be with me.  And no matter how bad it is, so long as the last thing I see is you, I’ll be happy.”  He leans down to kiss me once more, softly.  “And it won’t be tonight.”