The three men peered in, and she smiled as Moshe gasped. She knew exactly what they were seeing, even without looking herself, for she and Jerusza had fished countless times in the winter just like this. One by one, beckoned by the thrill of oxygen, the fat, snakelike fish were slithering from the hole, hoping for a taste of the air. But once they had left the water, the opening in the basket kept them from plunging back in, and so they flopped around the dried willow until they went still.
For the next hour, Yona collected the loaches as they stopped moving and shifted them to the larger basket as the smaller one continued to fill. When it was nearly overflowing, Yona finally moved the first basket away from the hole in the ice and watched as a final fish made a grab for the fresh air, landing on the ice and skidding away, flapping madly. She pushed the broken ice chunks back over the hole, once again enclosing the surface so no additional fish would lose their lives unnecessarily, and then she straightened to find the men staring at her. “What is it?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“We will eat well for days, all of us,” Moshe said quietly. “Yona, you’re a miracle.”
Yona averted her eyes, embarrassed. “It’s not so difficult when you know the land. But we can’t fish like this when it’s colder; the fish won’t come up. And we can’t hike without a snowfall, because our tracks would be too obvious. Today was a lucky day.”
The men murmured among themselves, and then Moshe offered to carry one of the baskets, and Leon the other. Yona nodded and handed the baskets over; then, as they began traipsing back toward the camp, tracing their own nearly vanished footprints, she fell back with Oscher and offered a shoulder to lean on. Though he refused at first, he was breathing hard after a few minutes, and when he stumbled and nearly fell, Yona placed a firm hand on his left forearm and didn’t let go, bracing him as they moved through the snowy forest. “You two go ahead,” she said to Moshe and Leon as they drew closer to the camp. Their earlier footprints were still barely visible, and she knew they could follow them home. “Oscher and I will be right behind you.”
Leon and Moshe looked uncertain, but they hurried away, the baskets heavy on their backs.
“I’m sorry,” Oscher said a few minutes after the other men had vanished into the forest ahead. “I’m holding you back, Yona. I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, I’m glad you did. And don’t worry. There’s no rush.”
But the snow was falling harder now, the afternoon turning darker, the clouds gathering overhead, stealing the sun. Great gusts swept through the forest, and she could feel Oscher trembling beside her. Without the two men ahead of them to keep up with, his pace had slowed even further, and for the first time, Yona began to wonder what she would do if he couldn’t go on. She was fairly certain she was strong enough to hoist him on her back, but would he let her? Certainly it would wound his pride. Jerusza hadn’t wanted to be treated like an invalid, even at the end, and she suspected Oscher wouldn’t want that, either. But she couldn’t just leave him out in the cold, for in saving face, he would lose his life.
As he continued to slow, panting harder, Yona was still mentally running through her options—which must have been why it took so long to register the unfamiliar voice up ahead. Usually she was attuned to the forest, but in paying attention to Oscher, she had let her guard slip. Instantly she stopped, and with a hand across Oscher’s chest, she halted him, too. She held a finger to her mouth, and then, in the stillness, she listened.
The voice was distant, too far away for Yona to discern the words, but it was male, and it was aggressive. Perhaps it was someone out hunting. Perhaps she and Oscher could just take a roundabout route back and avoid the stranger altogether.
But then her heart sank as she heard another voice: Moshe’s, loud and worried. The stranger in the woods was barking at Moshe now, and every cell in Yona’s body was suddenly on high alert.
“Wait here,” Yona said. “Behind this tree.” After a second, she pulled her knife from her ankle holster and handed it to Oscher.
“But you’ll need this to protect yourself,” he said, his face white with fear.
“I’ll be fine.” Of course giving her weapon away made her stomach roll, but Oscher was much more defenseless than she, and if someone came for him in her absence, the knife would give him a fighting chance. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Without another word, she raced toward the sound of Moshe’s voice, her feet carrying her over the snow, her lungs bursting with panic.