The crackling of the campfire had long ceased, taking away whatever inkling of comfort it gave.

  Aaron had fallen asleep sitting up, still wrapped in his heavy brown cloak like a blanket. Amidst his sleep he felt something familiar — a cold weight resting on top of his head. He opened his groggy eyes, a smile painted on his face, before he looked up.

  "Dad-"

  But there was no one. Not the emaciated face of his father. Yet he still felt that cold weight. He shook his head and snow fell off.

  He stared at it.

  "I guess it's too early," he murmured before looking up.

  It was noon.

  He scanned the forest for anything but there was not a single thing.

  "He's usually not this late. I hope he's okay."

  He paused.

  "What am I talking about? Of course he is okay. Nothing can ever beat him... He's just a little bit lost, I think." He nodded to himself.

  Artemis had woken up from Aaron's voice. He slowly turned his head up then cocked it to the side, looking into Aaron's eyes, before settling comfortably in the boy's lap and beginning to coo softly, shaking his tail feathers.

  Aaron stroked his head with the back of his finger. "At least I have you," he grinned.

  "You're the only one I have." He turned his head to the direction they had originally come from, where the trees with carved arrows were.

  "I wonder how mom is doing. We've been gone for who knows how long at this point," he muttered.

  "You know, speaking of her, I'm told I even got her pretty hair," he said, leaning down to Artemis. His long tangled ginger hair hid the crow like a curtain.

  Aaron giggled.

  A streak of white caught his attention. He pulled it closer to him as he straightened up.

  The tips of his hair had turned white and had travelled up a little bit.

  He reached for his knife with his right hand, pulling it out, and tried to cut the tips one-handed. But it was impossible.

  He tried to lift his left hand to hold it but winced when pain shot through his whole broken arm. Despite that he tried lifting it, pushing through the intense throbbing heat, but it was too weak. He pulled it back against his chest, whimpering, as he sheathed his knife, pursing his lips and looking down at Artemis once more as the crow stared back.

  "Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," he whispered.

  "Maybe I should've stayed home."

  It had been a while since he and his father had left. He hadn't known how long, since days just seemed to blend together until he had lost count. They had just walked and walked toward something. He hadn't really questioned his father. Plus he hadn't really told him much.

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  "Maybe when we were leaving I should've—" He paused.

  "Leaving... I don't remember..." He put his hand to his head as a headache stopped his train of thought. No matter. He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

  But nothing came through.

  No goodbye words from his mother.

  No parting letters from his friends. Not that he could read.

  The villagers were... were... they were... well, they were well.

  He remembered how sad he felt when his grandma had to leave so soon because winter came so soon.

  "It's beautiful, isn't it?" A voice echoed through, followed by a sharp pang to his center lobe that spread to the rest of his head like an ant colony.

  He rubbed his head frantically as he groaned in pain.

  "Maybe I'm just tired. I mean, I usually wake up way earlier than this." He sighed before looking down at his arm.

  "No use dwelling on it." Pulling out his waterskin, he began to gulp it down. "Ahh, I needed that," he exhaled through a refreshed sigh.

  He scooped snow into it until it was filled, then strapped it back to his side.

  Artemis suddenly stopped his gentle cooing. He looked to the left, toward the edge of the forest where they had originally come from, before standing up and flying onto Aaron's shoulder to get a better view. Following his gaze, Aaron saw nothing.

  "Artemis? Are you alright?" he queried, continuing to stare with the crow at nothing.

  Suddenly Artemis began harshly cawing as his claws began to dig into Aaron's shoulder.

  "Artemis!" he called out as he reached for the bird with his right arm, but as soon as his fingers touched him he flew away.

  Aaron yelled after him as he tried to stand up, but felt thousands of needles pricking his legs. It hadn't registered how numb they were until now. He stumbled after Artemis but barely made a few steps before leaning against a tree for support.

  "Artemis," he stammered, as he saw the crow fly away and away until he was gone.

  The taste of iron seeped through as Aaron unconsciously bit his inner cheek too hard.

  He looked behind him, then back to where the crow had disappeared.

  He stood there still against the tree, waiting, hoping, counting.

  Seconds passed.

  Then they started turning to minutes, and minutes turned into an hour, as he stood there motionless.

  "I don't need you," he snarled quietly.

  "Useless bird. I don't need you."

  "I hate you... I hate you." His voice faltered as he walked back to the fireplace. "I only need my father. I just got to... got to wait for him. That's all," he mumbled.

  He stopped, then kicked the snow. It flew, hitting a tree.

  He then kicked again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Then he tripped, and he lay there staring up at the clear blue sky. His scowling face began shrinking until it was impassive.

  The cold began to numb the pain. It numbed his stinging arms, it numbed his tired legs.

  It was for the better. It won't hurt again. He just needs to lie there amidst the snow and stare at the warm blue sky.

  But it still hurt.

  And the warm blue sky began to darken, and the sun started to dip.

  And dipped.

  Until the only thing it left was the shadow of its remaining light.

  His whole body had gone numb and cold and moved with great difficulty as he hauled himself up and hauled himself toward the campfire, pulling sticks and barely holding them along the way.

  He got enough sticks to start a fire, and by that time the sun had long gone, leaving him in a darkness that blinded him, leaving him with whatever might have been lying in it. He rubbed the cold sticks together, holding one with his broken arm as he rubbed with the other.

  The stick dropped, clattering with the other sticks. Both his arms were shaking. His good arm was barely holding the stick. He leaned down and held the stick with his broken arm and began grinding the sticks together once more.

  At the first spark of flame he leaned in, covered the fire, and blew on it gently until it caught onto the other sticks. By that time Aaron's broken arm had swollen from the effort of holding it. It could no longer move a single inch. Even breathing hurt it.

  He took off his satchel and peered inside at the remaining elk meat. There were two pieces of decent sized meat.

  Two days. It could last him two days if he could stretch it, if he only ate one a day.

  He stabbed a stick through one of them and held it over the fire. He looked to his left. But he couldn't see beyond his arm's reach, and the only thing audible was the gentle blow of the wind. There was nothing.

  He added the other piece of meat onto the fire.