To the Bright Edge of the World

by Eowyn Ivey

As we sit beside the fire, which produces more smoke than heat, we have tried to set straight our recollections of last night’s occurrences. So much is unexplained. What is it that we witnessed? The terror, absurd as it seems, has not entirely left us. The storm came upon us swiftly. The dark clouds streamed across the mountaintop & moved amongst us, the air turned icy & wet, so our clothes were soaked through, our faces damp. The midnight sun was blotted out. They walked out of the fog. Yet how can I say they walked? They were only shadows in the windblown mist. Arms, hands, howling mouths. Bitter cold, their touch. Some were of human form, while others were great lumbering beasts. Confusion swept through us. We were all out of our sleeping bags. Boyo barked madly in all directions as if birds threatened him from above. Nat’aaggi drew her bow, then knelt & wept. Tillman called for his mother. I heard Pruitt scream from far away.