All three of them are stained with dirt, their hair matted and itchy from lice, their faces sunken and gaunt, their lips swollen and cracking. As mirrors for one another, they offer no comfort. But the focus is on movement and on food. The thaw coaxes new shoots from the ground and new buds on plants that can be eaten.

Their boots leave tracks in the mud. Each tries what she can to prevent it: Chana wears a pair of socks over her boots; Róża alters her stride in an effort to obscure the pattern and even walks on all fours at times. Since the soles of Miri’s boots have detached completely, she ties them on backward so that her tracks point in the opposite direction.

“Now soldiers will have to split up and search in both directions to find us.”

Róża swells with gratitude for their company.

She thought she’d be on her own by now. Chana spoke continually of enlisting in a partisan group. But Miri proved as determined, and eventually, the sisters agreed to accompany Róża as far as the woods’ southern edge before searching for a unit. Perhaps Miri’s desire to help Róża reunite with Shira has something to do with her mother, who fought to save their little brother even as the soldiers brought batons down upon her. Whatever the reasons, Róża is glad they’ve stuck with her.

Peering at Shira’s photograph, a fixture in Róża’s hands by firelight, Miri says, “You must get her.”

“Yes.” Róża takes in her daughter’s face, the cream of her cheeks and the almond of her eyes.

Unimpeded by wind and frost, they cover substantial distances. Now Róża’s imagination runs. She conjures the convent with thick stone walls and wrought-iron gating. She pictures her arrival there, even muses at the prospect of concealing herself at first, just for a short time, peeking through the gate to glimpse Shira before surprising her. Placing a small gift, perhaps something knitted or sewn, at the edge of the yard just as the children are let out to play and stepping out as Shira finds it and whoops with joy. If only somehow Natan could be there too. He loved Shira’s squeals, her full belly laughter. Sounds that Shira was made to stifle and that Róża can hardly remember.

Róża’s night terrors recede as they move southward toward Celestyn, as she imagines Shira safe—and soon found. Guided by Natan’s old compass, the three women walk together past a train track, its wood ties looted for burning. Miri keeps one hand clasped around Róża’s arm. Chana is talking about food again. This time, about eggs.

“Do you know that, for an entire year, I devoted myself to making a new egg dish each day?”