Page 172 of The Sun He Buried

It survives me.

I open the door.

Wind grabs my hood before I get it over my head.

Snow comes through the gap and covers one side of the floor.

I squeeze outside and force the door shut with both hands.

The red rope is still tied along the wall.

I hold it and work my way toward the fence.

Eirik throws.

The knife strikes. He doesn’t look at me.

The snow reaches halfway up my boots when I step off the packed path.

I stop at the edge of the training ground.

Eirik pulls another knife from the wooden rail.

“The window was warmer.”

His voice reaches me through the mask.

“You saw me?”

“You were breathing on the glass.”

“From out here.”

“It was very loud.”

I pull the cloak tighter.

He throws.

The knife turns once and buries itself near the center of the target.

“You’re drinking again.”

“Your gift wore off.”

“Coffee isn’t a gift.”

“Then I owe you nothing. A relief.”

He reaches for the bottle.

“How many times have you hit the middle?”

“All of them.”

“That one’s to the left.”

His purple eye moves to the target.