Page 6 of Silent Mountain Man
"Is that why..." I gesture vaguely at him, at his silence.
His jaw tightens, and I immediately regret asking. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business."
But he's reaching for the notebook, writing by lamplight.
IED explosion. Two years ago. Lost my team. Words stopped coming after.
I read it twice, the simple sentence containing so much pain. "I'm so sorry," I whisper, knowing how inadequate it sounds.
He shrugs, a gesture that seems to say both "it happened" and "I don't want to talk about it further."
"Thank you for telling me," I add quietly.
We sit in silence then, real silence, with me not trying to fill it with chatter. The wind and the crackling fire speak for us. I watch the flames, thinking about Gunnar's photographs, his silent way of communicating beauty, and my own endless stream of carefully crafted content.
"I'm tired of performing," I admit suddenly. "Every moment, every trip, every meal. It's all content. Sometimes I can't even enjoy something without thinking about how to package it for strangers."
Gunnar looks at me, really looks at me, in a way that makes me feel seen. He writes again.
Why do you share so much with strangers?
It's the same question I asked myself earlier. "I don't know anymore," I confess. "It started as a way to connect, to share beauty. Now it's just..." I trail off, not wanting to admit how empty it sometimes feels.
But not the real you.
"No," I whisper. "Not the real me."
He nods, understanding in his eyes. Then he writes something else.
Cold tonight. Sleep by fire.
The change of subject is abrupt but welcome. I help him arrange the blankets and pillows we'd prepared, creating a makeshift bed large enough for us both, though with plenty of space between. As the cabin grows colder everywhere except near the stove, we settle in, backs against the couch, staring intothe flames. The silence between us feels comfortable now, not empty but full of unspoken understanding.
Sometime in the night, I wake to find the fire has died down. The cold has crept closer, and I've unconsciously moved toward the only other source of warmth—Gunnar. My head is almost on his shoulder, my body drawn to his massive frame like a moth to flame.
I should move away, maintain the polite distance we've established. Instead, I find myself studying his profile in the dim light from the dying embers. He's impossibly large next to me, a mountain of a man even at rest. The strong line of his nose, the fullness of his lower lip beneath his beard, the powerful rise and fall of his broad chest. His arm alone is thicker than both of mine, corded with muscle and decorated with tattoos.
He must sense my gaze because his eyes open, meeting mine. For a long moment, we just look at each other, something unspoken passing between us. I feel small beside him, but not fragile, butprotected.
I don't move away. Neither does he.
His presence beside me is like a fortress against the cold—steady, reliable, immovable. Outside, the storm rages on, but in this small circle of warmth, we've found a different kind of shelter. One built not of wood and nails, but of his quiet strength, my surrendered chatter, and this unexpected understanding growing between us.
four
Gunnar
Dawnisstillasleepwhen I wake, her body curled toward mine, one hand tucked under her cheek. In sleep, she looks younger, the constant animation of her face stilled into peaceful lines.
I ease away carefully, not wanting to wake her. Last night was... different. The power outage forced a new kind of proximity, yes, but there was something else. A shift in the space between us.
She asked about the military. About my silence. No one has asked directly in a long time. Most people either ignore it or talk around it, uncomfortable with what they perceive as disability.
Dawn just looked at me with those clear eyes and waited for whatever answer I chose to give.
Fifty-seven words yesterday. A record.
The generator needs checking. Outside, the storm has lessened, but the snow is piled high against the cabin walls. The world is white and silent, transformed. I dig a path to thegenerator, clear the snow from its housing, and check the fuel. Enough for a few hours if we're careful.
