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2009-11-23 - 2:22 a.m.

She decided that sound carries farther, and is louder, on cold nights.

Sitting there, in the open land, with no trees to muffle or hills to deaden, she imagined that she could hear his footsteps on the frozen ground. She closed her eyes and heard the soft crinkle of broken ice. She realized she could hear his footsteps. She could hear his breathing, slow and steady, unlabored though he must be cold. He must be tired.

She opened her eyes. The moon was not full but was enough to reflect off the ice, off the snow, and she could see him coming.

She had never been as cold as she was now. There was no fire because there were no trees. Just open land and snow and a wind that blew straight through her clothes. She sat, hunched forward, her arms around her legs. She thought it was so cold that her fingernails might freeze and pop off, making ten little soft plinking sounds as they flew and fell to the ground.

He was there, now. He was there, sitting across from her, watching her. She wouldn't look him in the eye. She watched his boots, noticed the hem on his pants was fraying.

She hated that she wanted his warmth. She hated that she wanted him to hold her close with his arms around her. His body could stop some of the wind.

He stood and came toward her. She closed her eyes, flinched when he touched her hair.

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