Pax wakes before I do, and his banging around the metal box—the stove, I guess—shoves my eyes open a few hours earlier than normal. The Others in my dream try to follow me into wakefulness, but disappear like wisps of night banished by sunlight. They were talking about the blizzard, about how they told Apa to make it stop so they could find me. When I tried to wake up, they chased me through the tunnels that connect their minds, the ones that I accidentally invaded when my skin touched a Warden’s. They’re gone now, but I lie still for a few moments and catch my breath. It’s still dark outside, and moonlight tries to wriggle through the dirt smudged on the windows. The fire has died to embers, allowing the chilly winter into the room. Wolf presses harder against me now, and his thick fur keeps me warm. His pale eyes follow Pax as he shoves wood through a little door on the side of what he claims is a stove. “Why on earth are you making that racket before the sun even comes up?”
