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I climb back into the saddle and tighten my grip on the reins. My other hand closes around the worn leather glove.

Then Bramble and I turn onto the overgrown road and disappear deeper into the forest, following what’s left of a trail I already know I’m going to regret finding.

5

Boone

The farther we climb, the more the mountain reminds me that spring hasn’t reached these elevations yet.

The change happens so gradually that I don’t notice it at first. Patches of melting snow become stretches of untouched white. Damp earth disappears under thick drifts that spill across the narrow road, forcing Bramble to shorten his stride. The air loses even more warmth, replaced by a cold sharp enough to sting the inside of my lungs every time I inhale.

I pull my coat tighter around my body and glance down at Bramble.

His breathing has changed.

The easy, steady rhythm I know so well has become strained. Each exhale escapes in a heavy cloud of white. Sweat darkens his coat underneath the saddle despite the cold surrounding us. Every few minutes, his ears flick backward, waiting for me to tell him we’ve gone far enough.

“We’re almost there,” I whisper.

I have no idea whether that’s true.

The trees crowd closer together, swallowing what little sunlight manages to filter through the dense canopy overhead. Snow-covered branches bow under their own weight. Patches of ice glitter between exposed roots and scattered stones. I call for my father again, but my voice feels smaller here, swallowed by the mountain before it can carry very far.

No answer comes.

We walk for hours.

Doubt begins creeping into my thoughts. If my father made it this far, maybe he found shelter. Maybe he turned around. Maybe he never came this way at all.

The deeper we travel into the forest, the more impossible this entire journey begins to feel. The roads are nearly impassable. The snow is too deep. My father was recovering, but he wasn’t strong enough for this.

Still, Bramble refuses to stop.

I loosen my grip on the reins and let him choose the path. He knows these mountains better than I do, perhaps better than anyone. He’s from here. We found him wandering alone when he was younger.

He continues forward without hesitation.

The climb becomes steeper.

Several times, his hooves sink so deeply into the snow that I think we’ll have to turn back. Once, he stumbles badly enough that my heart nearly stops. I slide from the saddle after that and lead him on foot for part of the journey, one hand wrapped around the reins while my boots disappear nearly to my knees with every step.

The forest grows quieter.

Even the birds have disappeared.

The only sounds are Bramble’s labored breathing and the soft crunch of snow under our feet.

Then the trees begin to thin.

At first, I don’t understand what I’m seeing.

Light.

Open sky.

Another few steps carry us beyond the last line of trees. The forest suddenly falls away behind us.

I stop. My hand tightens around the reins as my breath catches somewhere between my chest and my throat.