The Snow on the Cross by Brian Fitts

vanished
somewhere out on the ice field away from the fire and into the darkness,
leaving Bjarni and myself lying on the ice like discarded toys.
    When the night came and the darkness
was finally complete, I felt myself falling into a hazy slumber.  The pain from
my shoulder had let up somewhat, and I was conscious of the Vikings as they
gathered around the fire and cooked their meat.  It smoked and fizzed and the
smells came to me, not altogether unpleasant.  I refused to eat any of it, even
though it was offered to me.    I believed the meat was tainted, and God only
allowed meat to be eaten on certain days.  Even though I wasn’t sure which day
it was now, I was sure I could pass on the meat and not offend anyone.
    The Vikings didn’t seem to care
whether or not I ate.  They simply began roasting their own meat, squatting
down by the fire, not talking to one another.  They avoided looking at Bjarni,
who sat off by himself, a dark look on his face.  I felt pity for the man, and
I wondered what it was he had said to Eirik to make him so angry.
    When the moon rose, its glow skipped
across the fields of ice and practically made them glow.  With such a light, it
would have been just as simple to travel in darkness as daylight.  I wanted to
ask what difference it made whether or not we walked during the day or the
night, but in the end I kept silent.  I merely sat and watched the moon shadows
play across the ice.  I thought I saw Eirik far away in the distance: a black
speck against the white, but I was never sure if it was him, and I didn’t
bother to ask.
    I slept as close to the fire as I
could, wrapped in a fur that was almost useless against the ice.  I felt the
heat seeping into my skin, and as I drifted off to sleep, I do not think I even
cared if I burned to death while I slept.  At least it would have been a warm
death.  The others had moved a bit further back from the fire.  I assumed it
was either to stay away from me or to protect themselves from the flames. 
These men were more accustomed to the cold nights here, so I didn’t worry about
their health as I slept.
    A piercingly loud howl awoke me
sometime during the night.  I cracked my eyes opened to see the fire had died
down to smoking ashes, and I was just wishing that someone would come and stoke
it back up again, when I noticed the others were gone.  The sky was turning
light, so I knew the dawn was not far away.  The sleds were gone, and the
tattered remains of the deer were the only sign that anyone had been here
except me.
    I hastily crawled to my feet, wincing
as the stiffness in my shoulder flared up sharply.  I worked my arm carefully,
tears welling up with each rotation.  When I could move my arm again, I looked
around, trying not to feel the anxiety that was spreading over me.  The howl
came again, echoing across the plain, and I thought I heard faint shouting
accompanying it:  human voices that complemented the howls.  I wrapped my fur
tightly around me as the cold morning air began to gust.  I would find the
others.  They would not have just abandoned me here. 
    My anxiety had bled over into panic
as I began walking in the direction I thought the sounds were coming from. 
Across the ice fields there was no one to be seen, so whatever was making the
noise must have been coming from further than I could have imagined.  I had to
walk slowly, careful not to lose my footing.  The field was slippery, and with
each step I imagined myself sprawling over, breaking a leg in the process and
becoming food for the reindeer to graze upon.
    When I looked back at the remains of
our camp, I was surprised to see how far I had walked in a seemingly short
time.  The small black circle where the fire had been was a mere dot, and even
that was hard to see.  Forward, there was only nothing but the hills in the
distance that enclosed the plain.  Snow was spitting fitfully from the sky,
which was strange to me because I knew it was