Sylviana moved the fire closer to the bed, then tried to seal out the
wind that stole through the cracks in the barrier.
It was hard and frustrating work. But rather than crumble to see Kalus
laid so low, and become cold and distant, she sensed that responsibility
for their survival had been shifted onto her, and she responded.
Through all the trials, all the highs and lows that she had endured the
last year of her life, she would have thought she'd have nothing
left, and that such a crisis would be her final undoing. But she was
wrong. A quiet strength and maturity had been growing inside her, and
now she put it to the test.
Forming the mortar to fill the cracks required effort and endless
perseverance. The hard earth below them, packed solid for so long, was
reluctant to be uprooted and mixed with melting snow beside the fire.
And the straw that was called for was simply unavailable. So she took
dry pine needles, ground them up, and mixed them in by hand. The only
large ‘bowl' they possessed---a curving palette of stone---held
only a small amount compared to the number and size of the cracks she
must fill, and it was heavy and awkward. Then the mortar itself seemed
not to want to stay where it was put. It took constant adjustments in
the mix and in her technique just to find a half workable formula.
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