Leaving the Squirrel alone in the cabin, I make my way outside into the cool night air. After stopping to relieve myself in the outhouse, I head down to the creek.

Overhead the moon is full and brilliant white. Not so far away, I hear the haunting discord of a wolf pack’s howls. Throwing my head back, letting out a mournful cry, I answer them.

My whole body is on fire. My hands especially. They’re burning.

Furiously, I strip my clothes and splash into the icy water. It shocks my senses and brings me back to myself a little. At least I feel more like a man now, and less like a beast.

Pulling my clothes in after me, I rinse them of dirt along with the rest of my body and scrub them a little. Should I have bought soap in town? I suppose I could always make my own. I have lye, and there’s plenty of animal fat to be harvested. I expect the Squirrel would appreciate a bit of soap…

Climbing out of the creek, I wring out my clothes and leave them to dry on the branch before making my way back inside.

It’s late now, I assure myself. It doesn’t matter if I walk around naked. The Squirrel will be sleeping.

I walk silently through the darkened cabin, lit only by the flickering fireplace. The Squirrel is quiet, curled up in her bed beneath her rabbit skin blanket, eyes closed. After watching her sleep for so long on the floor in front of the fireplace, it gives me immense satisfaction and relief to see her resting in a proper bed.

I go to the chest at the foot of my bed. It contains spare clothes, warmer garments for the cooler season. It’s autumn now, as good a time as any to switch over.

I’ve got my trousers on and I’m about to slip the tunic over my head when I first sense eyes on me. I glance over my shoulder quickly. The Squirrel is facing me, lying on her side with her eyes closed, head resting on her arm.

My imagination? I frown.

I finish dressing myself and lie down on the opposite side of the cabin, facing her. After a minute, her eyelids flutter open, and her gaze fixes on me. Catching me watching her, her face instantly flushes and she quickly turns over, so her back is to me. She buries her face beneath the covers in embarrassment while I lie absolutely still. Stunned.

She was awake the entire time? Did she… see?

Suddenly my throat is dry. I rise on bare feet that suddenly feel ultra sensitive and cross the floor to pour myself a drink of water. She doesn’t move.

After considering her figure a minute longer, I return to my bed and settle in to watch her back. She doesn’t stir again. Eventually I hear her breathing settle, and I recognize she’s asleep. After a long, tense evening, this knowledge leaves me suddenly relaxed, drowsy.

In minutes, I’m asleep too.

Days quickly pass into weeks. I’m busy with winter preparations, making sure we have plenty of meat stored up for the season. Besides the small game I bring in with my usual trapping, I harvest a deer and a wild pig.

The Squirrel works hard storing salt pork while I dry the venison to make jerky and pemmican. With a bit of leftover fat, I also prepare tallow to make a single bar of soap, which I think pleases her immensely.

With the eggs the hens provide, she makes all sorts of new fluffy desserts. Custard confections with caramelized sugar, cakes and even cookies. Everything’s so delicious, I must restrain myself, feeling concerned about gaining weight for the first time in my life. After dinner I am careful to go outside and brush my teeth, lest all the extra sugar I’ve been eating give me another toothache. 

In the evening by firelight the Squirrel works in her bed, quietly stitching a gown. I smoke my pipe and watch her work without comment, fascinated by her deft fingers. Then one night she makes a happy little sound, and I understand her work is finished.

She rises and holds the gown against the length of her body, admiring the fabric’s tiny flower pattern by firelight. She glances over her shoulder, and recognizing her desire, I rise and leave the cabin to give her space to try it on.

I wait five minutes outside the door, oddly jumpy for some reason. Then I hear her approaching footsteps, and she lifts the latch with a delicate finger.

The door swings inward. I step inside before the warm air can escape, and latch it behind me. Then I turn to find her standing there, her arms spread slightly as though to show off her creation. My breath catches.

I’ve never seen the Squirrel in anything but that stained, washed out old nightgown. Now suddenly she is vibrant, like a brilliant flower blooming in the midst of my dark cabin.

I was right, I think, awed as she twirls just once for me, her face happier and brighter than I’ve ever seen it.

She looks pretty in red.

She surprises me by pulling something from the table. A knotted pair of woolen socks. I take them in my hand and look to her, astonished. When did she find time to make these?

Her sudden smile takes my breath away, and I’m stunned when she pushes herself up on her toes and her hands alight briefly on my shoulders. She leans into me, and I get the strangest notion she wants to kiss me, but I am too tall. And too stiff. I can’t make myself bend to her.

She hesitates a moment. Then, instead of my cheek, I feel her lips brush the side of my neck.

She releases me quickly, stepping away, cheeks flaming. She retreats before I can think to stop her, and scurries off, disappearing beneath her blanket without a sound…

All that night I lie awake, keenly aware of phantom sensations. Her hands on my shoulders, her soft chest pressed ever so briefly against mine, the warmth of her breath on my neck.

Of course I knew the Squirrel was a woman, and a beautiful one at that. Not for one moment have I been unaware of that fact. But it feels different, somehow, now she’s dressed like one. It makes me feel self-conscious in a way I wasn’t before. Aware of her in a whole new respect.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the touch of a woman. More than twelve years. Not since…

The flash of a memory, just the edge of a thought. The flutter of a pale blue skirt, the sound of a woman’s laughter as she stops in a busy market to smile back at me…

Like this, a great black door opens in my heart, threatening to swallow the present, pulling me back to that time. But I won’t go back there.

I can’t.

I sit up abruptly, throw off my blanket. I pull on my boots, my sweater and my coat and take my gun, disappearing out the front door and into the icy night.

Clouds roll in overhead. Light crystal flakes begin to drift down from the blackened sky and settle on my shoulders.

The first snow of the season.