“Juniper?” I call, my voice muffled by the falling flakes.
“Juniper!” Ethan bellows, but there’s no reply.
“She must’ve gone back to her campervan,” I say.
“Well, you can’t drive in this,” Ethan says, raising his hands to the snow. “Not again.”
“Then we’ll walk.” I take his hand, and we set off up the long mountain road, through the firs, where the tyre tracks from last night are obscured by snowflakes.
“Footprints!” we both shout, spotting them at the same time.
Juniper must’ve left this morning.
I smile against the biting cold. At least she hasn’t been out all night.
We track her to the main road then turn right and keep walking.
My stomach twists into knots as we pass a tangle of criss-crossed tracks. This is where we hit the ice.
I pick up my pace as the snow gets heavier and her footprints start to fade.
We can’t lose her now. Not after all we’ve been through.
Despite his longer strides, Ethan rushes to keep up with me. “We’ll find her,” he reassures me.
We can’t stop until we do.
The rushing snowflakes cloud my vision, collecting on Ethan’s scarf to create a line of frost across my face.
I sweat in all my layers, and my new snow boots rub my feet, but I plough ahead. “Juniper?” I call, cupping my gloved hands to my face.
“Juniper?” Ethan shouts, but I fear our calls are being blotted out by the snowfall. It’s no use. The air is too busy and thick with white for our meagre calls to make it through.
We reach a bend in the road, and I follow it around, my head down, my scarf pulled up. I push through the cold. Then—there it is! The campervan!
“Juniper!” we both shout, racing towards it.
We stop outside, breaths coming fast, and I knock on the side of the van. “Juniper?”
“Juniper?” Ethan presses his face to the back window.
The knot in my stomach tightens. If she’s not here, then—
The door slides open, and my heart leaps at the sight of her.
“Mia?” She looks taken aback. Then she chuckles. “Ethan?”
“We’re so sorry!” I blurt, relief washing over me. “Please don’t go.”
“We didn’t want to leave things like this,” Ethan adds, his voice tinged with concern.
Juniper cocks her head. “What?” She shakes her head. “Never mind. Come in!” She takes my hand, and I climb into the van. “You must be freezing!” she blusters as Ethan follows close behind.
She swings the door shut behind him. “Why are you here?” She gestures to the tiny bench seat, on which we both then awkwardly perch, bringing half the snow with us.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I laugh, pulling the scarf away from my face.
“We didn’t want to lose you,” Ethan says, taking off his gloves and reaching out his hand to take hers.
