She walks briskly back up to the cabin, but when she’s almost at the first clearing, her foot catches on something and Leah comes crashing to the ground. For a long moment, she lies still, waiting for pain to crash over her, but it doesn’t happen, only mild discomfort and the shock of actually falling over. When she sits back up, she feels a deep twinge to the left of her abdomen; she must have pulled a muscle trying to catch her fall. As she starts walking again, she feels a trickle of blood run down the side of her face and realizes the fall has opened a cut that was already there. She also feels a couple of achy spots on her legs and hips; she’ll have even more bruises. She has no choice but to stay another day and tomorrow she can walk to the spot in the valley by the lake, where her phone usually picks up reception and call for help.

The afternoon is deepening into evening when she returns to Supernova, overcome by an almost feverish energy, like she has been every night since she got to Bekkebu, and the act of writing to Kristina instantly transports her away from her own circumstances. The day slips away as she delves deeper into her narrative; the shock of Anton hammering on the door, the slashed tires, the fall.

*

It’s past midnight when she goes to the bathroom and runs a bath. There is a second door that runs from the corner of the bathroom to a more recent bedroom wing extension, and Leah goes through to her bedroom and lies down on the freshly made bed while she waits for the bathwater to fill the tub from the little cistern outside. After next week, the cabin won’t have hot water again until the spring and Leah will have to heat big cauldrons of melted snow over the fire to take a bath.

In the bath, she closes her eyes and breathes the rising steam deep into her. She runs a natural sponge across her bruised collarbone, across her suddenly much-larger breasts, over the tight drum of her stomach, avoiding the tender points and the little cuts and grazes. She’ll run disinfectant over the wounds, then sink into bed, hoping for a restful night and more clarity tomorrow. Maybe she will wake up to the sound of Kristina knocking on the door; she still can’t help but hope it might happen. Since she started writing Supernova, the connection between them seems even stronger, like an umbilical cord of sheer energy.