The figure was cutting a fast course across the landscape, and at first she feared she would not be able to intercept it. And if she couldn't... Her insides twisted in discomfort. She was growing weak, insides twisted with hunger. Her body, busy knitting new strands together, felt hollow and exhausted. She set her jaw, trying to determine the figure's speed and direction, and set off rapidly to where she thought she might be able to catch it if the figure's course stayed true. She hurried forward, legs tumbling in a mix of a feeble walk and shaky run. She stumbled once or twice, but the mossy tundra ground was spongey beneath her, and she scrambled back to her feet and drove forward.
How could she be sure it was a friend? Or, if not a friend, at least not a foe. Were there people searching, even here? How far over the border had she traveled, she wondered vaguely. It had been... a week, perhaps, since she'd broken away? Ten days, twelve? since she'd made her promise to the man who had been her husband. Now, she figured numbly, her late husband? But that gave her all the more reason to go forward. She didn't like to break promises.
But how were they moving so fast? She was sure she wouldn't get there in time. She was aiming for a bend in a swiftly bubbling stream where she thought she'd be able to reach as the figure approached it. She gritted her teeth, but then she heard the answer: a joyful bark rang over the tundra. Of course. Dogs. How had she not realized that? Stopping for just a moment, she put her fingers to her mouth and let out a long, high whistle. The figure, if it were human, might not even hear it. But she was sure the dogs would. And, as she expected, the lead dog turned and looked in her direction. Seeing one of the pack pause, she was filled with a new hope, and buoyed by that, quickened her pace. The figure on the sled, though, was no novice, and the dog redirected itself. She felt her stomach sink. She wouldn't make it.
In desperation, she whistled again, as loud and hard as she could while still rushing forward, stumbling through the grass and moss below her. What would she do if she missed this chance? Would she make it to the next village? Wherever that was? As she ran forward, though, she saw she was lucky: the lead dog responded to the whistle again and - she could just kiss it - broke away and came charging in her direction. She called out to it and, when it reached her, couldn't help but smile as the dog leapt happily at her.
The dog in its exuberance knocked the woman over, but she couldn't help but laugh as the dog whined happily and licked her face. It was always like this: dogs liked her. She liked dogs. She'd always had a dog. And, for a moment, her stomach sank, remembering another wet nose and wagging tail.No. You can't think about that. Your old life is over. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she vigorously pet and ruffled the dog's fur and ears. And, for a moment, she forgot about the circumstances surrounding this moment. But then the rest of the dogs, and the figure they pulled, caught up with the runaway.
She looked up, her face clouded with doubt, uncertainty, and still marked with the yellow-brown of old bruises. Already petite, being found like this, half-sitting, half-toppled over on the ground beneath a husky leaping back and forth, she felt very small below the figure of the man on the sled. And, her form swimming in the oversized men's coat she wore, she looked small to. But her features set into a look that tampered fear with a fierceness, a determination.
"I think you lost your dog."