Water Spirit

Cold up to my thighs hugs me stiffly as I push through the piles of white. Down, down, I traverse. The mountain looms behind me like a watchful guard as I descend towards the ribbon of teal. Rushing, gurgling, churning water over stones drowns out the pants of my breath and the thudding in my head. The river is closer now, just beyond the stretch of my arms. Ice closes the edge of its bank in ragged, broken sheets. A raven calls out from the birch forest. The mountain shudders. The snow is not as deep here, and I tug my feet free at last. My steps stumble. I lean forward, my hands on my knees, and wait to catch my breath. The thin nightdress clings to me like a sheet to a ghost. Chills dance up my arms and down my neck.

The water reaches for my red feet. They have gone so numb the cold feels warm. The raven chortles my name to summon me back to the lake. But men have found the lake. Putrid things have polluted and overtaken it. My path screams behind me to the sky, a rip in the smooth polished layers of snow. I step down into the water. The current shoves at my calves, nearly toppling me forward. My breath fans before me with a shiver. Eagerly, I sink. I drop to my back and dip below the surface. Clear blue dances around me. Bubbles swirl. The current washes me away.