The SurvivorOne step, then another. At first, when Vierra had fallen sick, she had counted the days until the fever would let go. After it had gotten worse, she had counted the hours of the day and counted each stick of firewood as she collected it with her fading strength, to make sure there would be sufficient for the coming night. Now, as she walked, she could only count steps, one at a time.
Those agonizing steps carried her through a forest that was freeing itself from winter. The melting snow had revealed brown-grey ground, which was waiting for warmth and light to green it up for its spring blossoming. Shadowy spots were covered here and there with odd-shaped patches of snow, which were fighting a losing battle against the approaching summer. And even though the summer in the north
