The first snow of late winter lay light on the ground, more a dusting than a blanket. Ella was following elk tracks when she saw them—boot prints, deliberate and fresh, leading toward the creek.
She caught the scent before she saw him.
Gilbert stepped from the treeline ahead, thinner than she remembered, eyes older. He didn't smile.
“I've been searching," he said. No speeches, no orders.
---
She stayed where she was, hands loose at her sides. “You found me."
“I kept hoping I would." He took one step closer, slow enough to leave her all the space she wanted. “Where are you sleeping these days?"
“In a lean-to near the ridge."
“Does your shoulder hurt when it rains?"
“Sometimes."
“Are you eating enough?"
She almost laughed. “Better than in Greenland's kitchen line."
---
Regret sa
