Ilse stopped breathing an hour before dawn on the sixth day.
The fire was a bed of dull red under grey. The dark was the thin kind that pretends it is morning. Somewhere off the shelf a bird made one thin sound and thought better of it. I had my hand on her sternum, because my hand had been on her sternum most of every night for a week, and the rise under it went and did not come back.
The cloth over her was still warm from her. The skin under my palm was not doing anything. Her mouth had been open. I only noticed that afterwards.
I do not remember shouting. Bren says I did.
What I remember is the flat of my hand and the count in my head getting to four and then to six and then to nine, and my whole body going somewhere very cold and very quiet, and then Light's knee hitting the ground on the other side of her. Grit jumped. His shoulder took the space where mine had been.
He shoved my hand off and put the heel of his own between her breasts and pushed.
