For a split second, Lana had thought that by calling his name it might draw him to appear, but quickly enough she recalled the treacherous state she had left him in, and realized that it would be much longer before he arrived, if he ever did. Perhaps it was evil of her to leave him the way he was, in fact.... This was the first time she had really felt the depth of her guilt, now that she missed him and thought of the reality of what he was suffering through. She herself was removed from such mortal agony. Leaving him as he was, somehow in her mind she still saw him as very much immortal, and impenetrable, and so his weakness was distant in her mind, like a dream. Now, as the hours had worn on, she felt anxious the longer it took for him to arrive.
The excitement of the women had endured throughout the daylight, but as the late afternoon sun grew dreary and less bright, with it left their excitement, and in its place came trepidation. They, too, were afraid for their lovers. The men were responsible for bringing home the bulk of the food for their families, but this meant that they had to leave for many months at a time, and there was never any shortage of injuries, and sometimes death, during these journeys. It wasn't uncommon for a woman to become with child just before her husband leaves, and to find herself a widow just after the baby is born. The other women knew that Lana had no one of their clan to await, but she was just as quiet and lost in thought as they. She sat on a rugged stool carved carelessly from a block of wood and sewed a large, grey and black speckled fur blanket. Her eyes were more downcast than the task required, and the background of the women quietly speaking to one another in their native tongue was soothing to her.
The light was still fading from the sky, but there was just enough to illuminate the snow and give guidance to the women's hands as they continued the last of their preparations. Their eyes sought the horizon more often now. Lana finished her blanket and held it up to inspect her handiwork. She ran her hand over the material and marveled at how soft the fur was. It was then that the female voices that he been intermittent and soft spoken became excitable. One of the younger girls, the smaller of the many pregnant bellies in the tundra, pointed and held her expansive stomach, dancing on her tiny feet. The other women seemed to waken from their sullen moods and ran forward to join her in peering at the recognizable black figures that grew over the horizon. Their hearts sped as rapidly as their feet as they all dropped their tasks to greet the men. Lana stood, pulling her blanket around her shoulders, and felt her own heart swell, her eyes darting from one unfamiliar face to another. If Ghanon were to arrive at any time, this would be it. She could imagine him instinctively finding the men, gaining their trust, joining them on their journey at sea, this would've been the perfect way for him to arrive. His perfect opportunity.
But her heart only continued to swell and to palpitate. It seemed that as the women calmed with the arrival of the last of the men, some injured but none missing, and as some of them ushered their lovers, sons and fathers toward the camp, and some of them stood in the gentle remaining rays of the light, lips locked in relief and bliss, the more Lana's heart ached with disappointment. But this, she supposed, was what she deserved. She turned and made her way past the festivities toward her cabin where she laid herself down beneath her fur blanket and closed her eyes, hoping that sleep might distract her occupied mind.
What eventually awoke her from her light doze was the sound of her heavy cabin door flying open and the wind forcing its way in. The cold was instantly biting and bits of white snow flake danced about the room. Lana drew herself up and looked over her shoulder for the cause. The familiar figure, big and broad, was recognizable even in the rising darkness. He was far more massive than the other men, yet the way he carried himself in injury was even more unmistakable. She stood and forgot her greeting, for the closer she came the more evident it was that his condition had only worsened, despite his attempts, the last time she had seen him, to persuade her that he was more alright than he was. Lana pulled his wet clothing from him, still not a word having passed between them. She figured he was going to be too weak to fight her from the way his eyes shifted wearily from focused to unfocused. She pulled his boots from his feet and cast them aside, and in place of the drenched, frozen clothing that had once held to his body was the massive fur blanket. There was a moment where there was silence and she simply watched him, unsure of what to read from him, before she sensed that there was more than just weariness that he was feeling.
