Elliott crawls out of his sleeping bag, blinking hard, his hair a flattened mess on one side. “Schedule for today?”
“We need to reassess the situation,” I say, my voice low, not wanting to wake the others. “The rain has made the upper trails dangerous.”
“We need to keep moving,” he insists. “The network has deadlines.”
“The network isn’t carrying anyone down a mountain with a broken leg.” Elliott opens his mouth to argue, then closes it when I level my eyes at him. “Two hours,” I say. “Everyone needs to eat and rest. Then we’ll decide.” He retreats to his corner of the cabin, muttering about production schedules and all the shots they were losing.
I set the branches I’ve gathered beside the stove. My mother started teaching me their uses when I was barely tall enough to reach them—how the pale inner bark could ease pain like aspirin, how the leaves made a poultice to bring down swelling. May built on that knowledge over the years, always saying,“Our job is to remember the lessons.”
A soft groan draws my attention—then the sound of rustling. Lena is awake.
I move toward her bench, branches in hand. “Morning. How’s the ankle?”
She pushes up on her elbows, hair tangled from sleep. Her eyes, rimmed with fatigue, still carry a clarity that catches me off guard. No performance. Just her. And despite looking like she’s been through hell, there’s a quiet strength I’m starting to recognize.
“It hurts,” she says simply.
“Mind if I look? I might have something that could help.” I hold up the branches. She hesitates, then shifts to make room for me on the edge of the bench. The scent of damp clothes and the faint trace of her shampoo hang between us.
She stretches out her leg. The ankle is swollen, purpled and angry.
“That’s a nasty one,” I say, leaning in without touching. “Can you move your toes?”
She does, with a wince.
“That’s a good sign. Likely just a sprain.”
I set the branches between us. “Willow bark eases pain—same compound as aspirin, but easier on the stomach. The leaves help with swelling.”
“What are they called?” she asks, eyeing them.
“The Athabascans call it K’aii. Been using it for generations—long before pharmacies ever existed.”
Her expression shifts—subtle, but not lost on me. “Does it actually work?”
“I wouldn’t offer it if it didn’t.”
I strip bark while she watches, then crush the young leaves between two smooth rocks I’d gathered earlier. The rhythm of the task grounds me.
“Thanks for catching me yesterday,” she says quietly. “At the ravine. I don’t think I said that.”
“Anyone would’ve done the same.”
“Not everyone would’ve caught me in time.”
“There’s no need for thanks.” I keep my hands busy, setting some bark aside for tea and handing her a smaller piece to chew. “My mom taught all six of us to live off the land. When I was five, she showed me which berries were safe—probably a hundred times before I got it right. Good thing she did. That knowledge saved my life a few years later.”
“What happened?” Lena asks.
“When I was eight, I got separated from her while picking blueberries. I spent a night alone in the woods before they found me.” I continue working the willow paste as I speak. “I was scared out of my mind, but I remembered what she taught me. I found shelter under a fallen log, made a bed from spruce boughs, and even ate some berries without poisoning myself.”
“What happened when they found you?”
“My mother hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack. Then she made me recite every decision I’d made while I was lost, correcting the bad ones and praising the good ones.” I smile at the memory. “After that, she took me out everyweekend, teaching me more about survival. She said if I was determined to wander off, I’d better know how to survive.”
“That knowledge stuck with you,” Lena notes.
“It did. Years later, when my parents gave me the plot where Crystal Creek now stands, those skills helped me survive while building the lodge. I constructed it myself with help from my brothers. Took nearly two years of living in a tent on the property while we worked.” The willow paste is ready. I hold it up. “This goes directly on the swelling. It will be cool at first, then warm.”
