"Curse this—"
"What?" Sunshine asked shakily.
"I was talking to the hide. It's frozen so solid I can hear the ice crystals crunching as the awl wiggles through them.''
"Hurry, please," said Laughing Sunshine, "I can't bear this."
Laying the baby in her lap, Dancing Fox quickly pulled her hand up into her sleeve and used the hide cuff as a cushion beneath her fist as she forced the awl through the leather. A dull crackling sounded as the hide gave way. Placing the awl in her teeth, she worked the last segment of sinew through the hole and drew it tight, sealing the tiny face in the hide sack.
So many dead. Has the Long Dark eaten all our souls? Have light and life left the whole world? She rubbed her gaunt belly, fearing Crow Caller's seed might have taken root in her womb. Her bleeding hadn't come in the last two moons—but then hunger did that to a woman.
Across from her, Laughing Sunshine moaned to herself, rocking back and forth on her heels, a grimace tightening her triangular face and beaked nose. With a flake of stone she'd struck off one of Singing Wolf's cores, she cut at the skin of her gaunt cheeks until blood ran hotly. Then she turned the sharp edge on her hair, cutting it short to the collar, letting long black strands fall onto the frozen, stained ground.
"Sunshine?" Dancing Fox called softly, tying the death knot on the baby's sack. The child's haunted blue face hung heavy in her mind, like oil smoke on a cold morning. She held the sack out for the mother to take, but Sunshine only shook her head bitterly.
Dancing Fox laid the baby in the crook of her left arm and with her right reached out to squeeze Sunshine's shoulder. "Stop this," she ordered softly. "You're using up strength you need to live."
"Maybe I don't want to live," Sunshine whimpered, dropping her bloodied face into her hands. ''All my children have died this Long Dark. I—"
"Hush! Of course you want to live. There can be other babies. You aren't so old you can't—"
"Doesn't anyone Dream anymore?" Sunshine wailed hysterically, slamming her fists repeatedly into the frozen floor. The dull thudding stabbed bitterly at Fox's heart. "What's happened to us? What are we doing here, starving to death? Has Father Sun abandoned us to the spirits of the Long Dark?"
"It may be," Dancing Fox said bitterly. "But I plan to go on living just to spite Him. And I'm going to drag you along with me. Now stop torturing yourself. We have duties to perform."
Sunshine wiped her eyes, whispering, "Is your heart as empty as your belly, Fox? What has Crow Caller done—"
"Done?" she asked reflectively, pain smoldering in her breast at the mention of her husband's name. She lowered her eyes to scowl at the floor. "He's made me stronger."
"You mean half-human. You used to be kind and—"
"Kindness is for the living," she said, pushing the door flap open. Cold splashed into the shelter, wind flapping their fur hoods. "The dead don't need it anymore."
Sunshine cocked her head curiously. "But my little girl's spirit can still hear—"
"There aren't any spirits."
"You ... Of course, there are. What do you think makes—"
Fox shook her head vehemently. "No, there aren't. I've been praying to Father Sun and the Monster Children for two moons to—"
"Since you married Crow Caller?"
, Fox let the flap drop closed and nodded tightly. "They haven't answered a single prayer."
Sunshine blinked away her tears, swallowing hard. "Maybe his Power prevents them from hearing you."
"Maybe."
"So they might still exist," she said pleadingly. "And my little girl can hear."
"Of course." Dancing Fox nodded, shame at her insensitivity reddening her cheeks. She fumbled with the death sack, stroking the covered head. What did she think she was
doing, undermining her friend's last hope? "I didn’t mean it, Sunshine. Of course she can hear."
"I know you didn't." Sunshine smiled consolingly, patting Fox's arm. "You're just hungry and tired—like the rest of us."
They exchanged a tender smile and crawled beneath the flap out into the faint gray light. Dancing Fox's legs quivered weakly as she got to her feet. Straining, she helped pull Laughing Sunshine up.
Crow Caller stood a short distance away, his withered features contorted with irritation. His aged flesh hung in sagging wrinkles. On one side of his hawk nose glittered a deadly black eye—the other stared white-blind, lifeless. His thin-lipped mouth held no humor—no feeling for another tragedy of death. Lifting his hands, he immediately began singing, ancient voice wavering up and down the scale as he sang the death song by rote, calling the Blessed Star People to accept this baby among them—even if it had no name.