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Show and wound clenched. A moment later, she was quiet, living, still, accepting Hunt or whatever came. He did not try to touch or move the doe. He left her there and backed slightly away. Her head turned slowly, slowly, watching him. Her eyes, it seemed - or perhaps it was simply the light - her eyes had dissolved almost completely now into their glass. If there was sight, it was buried. If there was vision, it was so small that he would have to approach her again, close, close to find out. And he didn't want to do that. He found Leah a half-mile further down the lake-border path. She was simply standing in the white. She had no coat on, no gloves, no hat. Her skin was loose on her face. And without hue. Hunt could not see any texture there, or pores. Leah was staring out over the lake. It was hard to say at what, at what object or point. She only stared. Her breath moved in and out of her like thin film. Hunt touched her. "Leah ..." She showed no recognition of him. Her mouth was slack. Almost like the deer's her eyes seemed nearly vanished inside her head. Hunt turned her around He led her back along the path. Her feet followed his carrying of her upper body and lent support. Branches bent in the way, but Hunt took them with his head for both of them. It was hard to think. There was a network of branches and connections; causes, effects; positions, aftermaths -- penciled lightly somewhere within him, between brain and eye. Hunt did not want to, but could |
