Andrew explored the cabin. It consisted of only the two rooms: the one he was in comprised of a fireplace, the table, a small kitchen set up, and a tattered chair. The second, what Alfie called the bedroom, had a small bed with a worn cover and lumpy mattress, and a small closet that was also a bathroom. Folded gently on the bed was what appeared to be pajamas, and they stood out starkly as the least-worn thing in the entire cabin.

Andrew had left the camp behind, starting back the way they had come. The bite of the cold wind had started to cut until his insides felt as though they had been replaced by blocks of ice; the snow had started to fall faster and harder, his tracks disappearing as soon as he made them.

Andrew had lost track of the days. It seemed both immediately after they left and a lifetime ago that their journey had been upended. The day had been whitewashed and barren like the ones before it, and at the end of a snow-logged hike ever northward, they had stopped for the night.

Andrew checked his pack for the fourth time, fighting the urge to bring anything else that would weigh him down. He knew there would be plenty of food and water between the six of them on the sled, and despite the hefty backpack and months of preparation, he couldn’t help but wonder if they had prepared enough.