Past the woods and the lowlands lay The Warrens, where shy but dangerous folk lived in the foothills of the Scandes. And past the hills, the mountains bristled, propping up the sky on the Swedish side. Now Kani could only see layers of white, gray, and blue. She put her mitten to her face, moved it to arm’s length, and its edge dissolved. A birch stood in her way. She parted the branches and scores of ice beads, brilliant in the haze, rained on her. She walked—legs soft, paws outstretched, feet timid. Every step crunchy like the top of the crème brûlée she’d once tasted. Somewhere under the snow cover her glasses would stay until spring, and then grass and violets will push through the soil and hide them forever. Such a shame.

 A furrow in the snow cut across her path. She squatted, the rabbit ears on her hood drooped over her face, and she pulled them back. Through the curls of her breath, she peered. Holes made by running feet, a dent from a fall, and a trickle of imprints after that. Her own tracks. Kani stood in them, her snowshoes pointing to the place she ran from. She pictured her glasses with their arms sticking up, begging to be rescued. She took a few steps and dashed back, her heart beating against her eardrums. He might still be there, looking for her, maybe following her tracks. Sweating and shaking, she wrapped herself in her coat, cursed her eyes, apologized, promised to never curse them again. Her head felt as though it might wobble off her shoulders. She slowed her breath, in and out, until her lips froze to the fur of her hood. Would he have followed her? All the way here? Not a chance. Not after a good look at her. Ran the other way, more like. There’s an image no human wants to see—a four-foot tall rabbit tearing around on two legs. And inside those skins, stitched together into a disguise? A freak. Kani touched the prongs of her teeth with her tongue, sniffled, and turned to the sun, which never managed to break through the treetops. She spun. Trunks and branches, like watercolors, mixed. The forest stood indifferent, grunting, shifting under the snow, jigging a dead leaf now and then to keep itself company.

 A crow’s caw rang out, followed by a whole chorus. Kani cupped her ears, leaning into the sound. Bounced by the echo, it played games. She ripped off her mitten and made a tight OK sign. She pressed her eye against her curled paw and the pinhole showed her a morsel of the sky, crisp, like in a spyglass. Crows live near roads. Crows live near houses. Crows live near food. She wheeled until she spotted a set of black dots. Most of them moved in a circle but a few jerked up and down as if suspended on a puppeteer’s string. Teely-Mockers were rubbish at flying but loved to join the crows, dressed in their feather kit. Kani bolted in the direction of the birds, eyes scrunched up, paws on guard. Trees and naked shrubs rushed out of the blur to stop her. They lashed and grabbed, and she moved faster, the scratches on her cheeks screaming.

 “Boo,” said a larch inches from Kani’s face. She smelled sap. The wood crackled and puckered. A head with long sprigs for hair came out of the bark. It blinked its wooden eyes and stretched its wooden mouth into a grin. Kani flinched and put her paw to her chest, emptying her lungs in one go.

 “Don’t do that! I lost my glasses.”

 “Maeve knows.” A voice like a splintering log. The head went back into the tree and re-appeared from a limb just above Kani. Shoulders and a torso down to the waist came out, too. Hanging Maeve dangled upside down, waving her arms and twig-hair. “This one looks dreadful, even tore her little bunny suit.” Kani groped along the length of her coat and felt a gash. She squinted. Never had she seen Hanging Maeve this close. The smell always came first—sap or soil, depending on what she’d decided to come out of, and now Kani saw Maeve’s face, covered in bark skin, sleepy beetles and grubs jumping for their lives from the cracks.

 “Stop being a pest, Maeve!” A familiar voice came from behind, from a clearing where a campfire burned. A round silhouette pattered towards Kani with a bounce. She smiled. Ollie’s snout, as thin as his arms and legs, came into view.

 “Did you lose your glasses?” He held her shoulder.

 “I did. It was…”

 “This one went hop-hop to where the farmer boy roams, pink cheeks, blond hair. Thought he would not notice, but he did. And gave chase, long legs.” Maeve’s head jutted out of the snow, this time looking like a knot of roots and truffle bulbs.

 “Hmm.” Ollie’s shoulders dropped under his cape of needles. Kani held her face in her paws. “Nevermind her.” Aiming for the head in the dirt, Ollie stomped, but Maeve dove back into the earth and his boot filled with snow. “Come, sit down. The cuts will need iodine, but I don’t have any.” Ollie slapped his pockets, then offered his paw.

 “I’m alright. Thank you, Ollie.” Kani touched her cheek, started towards the campfire, and tripped on a root. She took Ollie’s paw.

 Hot air rippled like water. The flame reflected off Kani’s slender claws. For the first time today, she didn’t mind the blur. Ollie sat on the other side of the fire, his black eyes darting at her probably. She went too close to the farm, she couldn’t help it. How dumb. Why bother? The heat, the smell of burning wood and meltwater washed over her and the cold tickled her through the rip in her coat. She remembered how earlier that year she discovered purple carrots called heirloom and how good they tasted in a stew cooked in an iron pot over her fireplace. She wanted her little house, a blizzard, her bed opposite the frosty window, her blanket, her cup with strawberries on it. Complicated. That’s the word. The forest and the world beyond it, the creatures and their rush to live, the wheel of the seasons, and how it all fit together. To make sense of it seemed more impossible than to find her way home blind.

 “This one thinks Long Legs will fall in love with her, spud nose, pike teeth, hides in a bunny skin.” Maeve croaked from a stump. She crawled out of it halfway and went on. “Wants to smooch him. Like humans do in the woods. On Midsummer. Maeve knows.”

 Kani drew her paws into her jumper and pressed them to her nose, elbows on knees.

Ssss, hissed the burning stick tossed by Ollie as it hit the stump, then the snow.

 “Angry hedgehog-man throws like a girl. Maeve is bored now.” A groan came from the wooden hag seeping into the ground. And silence. Kani didn’t turn her head.

 “Is it true what she said?” Squeaked Ollie from the shadow behind the fire.

 “I don’t know.”

Kani marched to the sound of Ollie’s boots creaking on the snow, his back—her guide in the gloom. His ears perked up, so either he didn’t believe Maeve’s ramblings or decided to ignore them. Ollie chatted about the improvements he’d made to his pedal wagon, about gears and how anything can be done with gears, and about torque, whatever that was. Kani threw in the odd mmm and uh-huh. A whiff of pine. Stretching upward forever, the trees bordered the path. Soon it would join other trails, widen, and flow into Rauma Way. Kani lifted her chin and squeezed her snowshoes under her arm as Ollie bounced on, the needles on his cape rustling. He always acted with certainty, the serious type, to be trusted in any situation. The little guy had a purpose, in every step, every invention, every wiggle of his snout when he sat thinking. Sure, he kept to himself and ate bugs, and he’d roll himself in his cloak when he wanted to be left alone, but he wouldn’t leave behind those he “didn’t dislike” as he put it. Kani’s cheeks stopped hurting and her nose warmed up from walking, her hood slipped to the back of her head, and the evening noises grew clearer. The smallest creatures went about collecting pine needles for their fires, digging out autumn stashes, fixing up their burrows. Full, like marigolds, their windows lit up near the ground and in the trees. Did these mites spend their days haunted by a fear of the owl or the fox, only to never meet one in their finger snap of a lifetime? Or did living small and out of sight make them bold? Storms bring down trees, not saplings.

 “Hello? Are you listening?”

 Kani walked into Ollie, who’d stopped a few paces ahead.

 “Torque?”

 “I asked if you had another pair of specs at home.”

 “I don’t. Sorry.”

 “Don’t need to be sorry, things happen.” Ollie tugged on his whiskers, arms folded. “I have a couple of parcels left to deliver. I’ll drop you off at Metso’s. Not sure he’ll be happy with visitors at this hour. Still, we can’t have you wandering in circles.” He waved his paws. Kani gave a laugh, stopped mid-breath, and choked down a sob not meant for Ollie’s ears.

 By dark, they reached Rauma Way. The moon had painted the snow blue. Erased by distance, travellers flickered along the road, only their lanterns visible—floating, washed-out lights. To the left, a second moon. Up close, it turned into a globe on top of a roadside booth. Kani walked up to the window with Ollie and he nodded hello to the guard. Under the striped roof hung a sign. She narrowed her eyes—379^th mile, in cursive.

 “Excuse me, coming through, yes, pardon me.” A beastie wearing ferret pelts wedged herself between Kani and Ollie and stood on tiptoes, grabbing on to the ledge. Her rucksack nearly pulled her over. “Has it gone already? Impossible! When’s the next one?” She yelled at the glass. A thick hand slid the window open.

 “Air service for the North resumes tomorrow, madam,” announced the guard in an old man voice, cinnamon and vodka on his breath. He tilted his massive head made up mostly of nose and lifted his mole eyes as high as they would go. Kani thought he’d break the booth if he moved any more. Everyone else looked up. The sky had clotted into something from Kani’s book on life in the deep sea—a squid or a whale. She’d always wanted to travel by airship. The shape lumbered on and away without sound. “But there is a coach to Kilpisjärvi later tonight, if that’s of any interest.” The guard hammered a piece of paper with his finger. As if looking to Kani and Ollie for a decision, the ferret-lady swiveled her head, licked her snout, and ran off into the dark, huffing. “Almost every day.” The enormous head shook. “Same story. It is a special kind of torture, let me tell you. She comes here, five minutes late, makes a fuss. I think she wants to miss it.” The guard’s sigh fogged up the window. “So, mister Ollie, taking your sweetheart for a ride on this beauty?” His nose pointed to a thing near the booth. Kani strained to see—a hunk of metal and wood sitting on four wheels.

 “Hehe…not exactly.” Looking down, Ollie swallowed and scratched his head. Kani snapped an icicle off the window ledge and busied herself counting the air bubbles inside it. “We need iodine.” Blurted Ollie.

 “Iodine, iodine.” The guard fumbled through his desk, red-faced, and the booth moved side to side. “I am afraid this is all I have.” He offered Kani a plaster in a tattered package stained with coffee. She hoped it was coffee.

 “Thanks.” She slid the plaster in her pocket while the guard talked rheumatism and weather with Ollie.

 With goodbyes finished and cap tipping by the guard, Ollie hopped on his wagon and helped Kani climb up. Her mittens slipped on the metal belly silvered by the frost, but she made it to the seat next to Ollie. He yanked on levers, pressed pedals, the guts of his creation screeched. The first turn of the wheels jolted Kani backward, and she strangled the handlebar. Ollie pulled onto Rauma Way.

Kani knocked again. Her paws followed the spirals on the slabs of granite framing the door. The Woodlouse House, a hillock, all root, stone, and moss, waited, light spilling from its small windows. She wiggled her toes—they’d had enough of the cold. Far-off, Ollie’s wagon clanked on. He was busy, he said, didn’t even offer her a hug goodbye. She’d never seen him flustered, like when the guard took them for an item. Ollie and his moods.

 Inside, the latch pulled and Kani straightened herself, with her snowshoes pressed to her chest. The door creaked and let out a puff of bitter herbs and coffee. Fresh coffee, always.

 “Oh, it’s you.” Metso’s voice rumbled through her. “Come in, neighbor, no use standing there.” Before she had a chance to reel off her apology, Metso turned his back. Maybe the surprise visit didn’t bother him. She felt for the doorstep with her foot and entered.

 “Boots, please!” She heard coming from one of the rooms. “I just cleaned the place. Would you care for a light?”

 “That won’t help much,” muttered Kani, brushing against the books stacked along the wall, next to the ever-present pile of baskets, tarps, and hunting gear. “No, it’s fine!” She replied. The coat stand, drowned in clothes, was ready to buckle, so her boots, coat, and snowshoes went on the floor, by the shoe rack where Metso kept his collection of pinecones that looked like famous people.

 In the main room, she sat by the fireplace, in the patients’ chair—the guest chair, as Metso called it. Hunched, he stood by the workbench, the back of his neck in the curve of the ceiling beams. Bottles filled with fly-fire gave the house a glow of mint green, and in that softness, Metso seemed part of the building.

 Kani cleared her throat. “You’re looking well.” She picked at the spot on the armrest where hundreds of paws had worn a hole in the satin. “And you’ve got taller again. Have you been…eating…things?” She crossed her arms and legs and squeezed herself. Seriously? Who asks such a question?

 She couldn’t see what Metso’s face said, but his laugh shook the glassware on the bench.

“Why, you’re too kind! No. No things were eaten beyond the usual things. These old bones just won’t quit, I suppose.” Slowly, he went into the kitchen, ducking under the rafters, pushing away bunches of dried herbs, and returned with two cups. “Should be ready”. Metso sat across from Kani, poured coffee, and set the kettle on the hearth. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish your glasses any minute now. The Assistant is working on the second lens.”

 Kani almost dropped her cup. “How did you know?”

 “Hanging Maeve stopped by earlier. She’s not as horrid as we’d like her to be.” Metso winked and stared at the flame, sipping his coffee. Kani grinned into her cup. They cared. Her chest swelled with warmth—it filled her throat, mouth, head. She shifted back in her chair and started swinging her legs. “In the meantime, let’s do something about these scratches.” Metso brought his face close to Kani’s. Today, her eyes let her down, and to make up for the blur, they showed her other things, old but new at the same time. Look, they said, we have plenty of strength left for close-ups. Did you know every snowflake has six sides? The swirl of froth in your cup could pass for a galaxy. Look! It’s important. It’s beauty. She watched Metso. His strong nose and chin, his living skin. Fibers, fine as hair, rose from his hands and face, hovered and twisted, searched, then settled. The balm he picked felt cool and sharp, like ants nibbling her skin. Metso loved it here, underground, where seeds and centipedes lived, where forest talk buzzed on a web of fungal strings. He smelled of earth turned over after the rain. “I wonder how The Assistant is doing.” Metso patted Kani on the back and went to the workbench.

He made a step stool out of books and waved her over. Perched on a wire frame, a small glob of clear jelly had a smaller glob of jelly hanging from one of its ends. If The Assistant had a face, by now it would’ve been purple with strain.

 “So, that’s how it works,” whispered Kani. “That poor thing.”

 “Pfff! He’s treated like royalty here. Only the best will do for The Assistant.” Metso offered the glob a dropper full of cloudberry jam. Some of it dripped on Kani’s forehead. The jelly aubergine stretched for the dropper with its free end and swallowed. Under fly-fire light, pinched into a beam by a crystal gadget, Kani followed the jam with her eyes, as it whirled forward in the creature’s see-through gut. “We don’t need any of that in our fine product.” With a pair of scissors, Metso snipped the lump of goo off The Assistant’s rear end. Kani squirmed. The glob landed on the rims of her new glasses below.

 “Couldn’t you just fix my eyes? By some miracle?” Kani flailed her paws.

 “Miracle? You are here, you were born, to breathe and talk, and to walk under the sky. Isn’t that miraculous enough?” Metso began packing the goo into the rims with a spatula.

 “Sure, but.” Kani stopped herself. Then she couldn’t. “But it’s hard being an ugly and scared thing!” Her spit flew into the spotlight. “A blind nuisance! I wish I’d fallen through ice or off a cliff! I wish!”

 “Don’t ever!” Roared Metso. For a moment, his shadow ate up the light. He covered his mouth and stayed quiet. Kani wanted to melt away Maeve-style. With her sleeve, she wiped the snot off her lip and looked up at Metso, his face swimming in her tears. “We can’t all be perfect like The Assistant over here,” Metso stroked the glob where its chin would’ve been. “But rotten words do you no good.” He sucked in air. Kani hiccuped and reached for The Assistant. It nuzzled her arm. “Pop these on, before they set.” Metso handed over the glasses. As the lenses twitched, the room fluttered in and out of focus. Then, she could see.

 “Thank you!” For the first time today, she took a full breath.

 “Pleasure, pleasure. And listen.” Metso’s eyes, moonstone-pale, met hers. “Everyone gets scared, but, you know, life is a…” He looked into the kitchen. “Sandwich.” His eyebrows went up. “It’s a sandwich, and you’re in the middle, between the past and the future. It’s scary, in this never-ending bread, unpredictable, confusing. And it’s not even real…the bread. Doesn’t actually exist. It’s dead, flat, either a maybe or a has-been.” Kani blinked at him. “It’s fake bread.” Metso tossed the fake bread of future and past over his shoulder. “So you’ve got to make a home here, in the middle of your sandwich”. He pulled in his arms and put his feet together. “It’s the place to be. It’s just the right size. Forget everything else. Do you get what I’m on about?”

 “No.”

 “Good, I haven’t lost my touch!” With a laugh, Metso pushed back his braids and picked up a red coffee tin. In his fingers, it looked the size of a matchbox. “Don’t fret, it’s all about the small wins, about the now. You have new glasses, for example. The rest will follow.” He flipped the tin. “And I don’t see anyone ugly here. Do you?” Kani turned her head one way and the other, her reflection yellow in the bottom of the tin. Walnut frames on a button nose. Eyes sparkling and deep. Teeth sharp enough for carrots or raw meat. She ruffled her hair and smiled.

 “It’s been a very unlucky and lucky day, Metso, and I’m pretty tired. It’s time to head home.” She yawned and felt a pull from the scabs on her cheeks. “But I’d love to talk about the life-sandwich again some time.”

 “Of course. There’s more where that came from.”

 Kani made her way to the front step. Kitty-corner to the Woodlouse House, her own home stood capped with snow. Only the tip of the chimney showed, sad looking, without a string of smoke dancing on it. Did she remember to get firewood yesterday? She did.

 She turned to Metso. “Teely-Mockers are awake already. Saw them putter around with crows.” 

 “Did you? Those bums are up early. Spring must be around the corner.”

 Kani nodded. A Kaanatak bellowed from across the forest and she imagined it plodding towards Kilpisjärvi, the carriage on its back swaying above the canopy, a few passengers nodding off inside. She hoped the ferret-lady had finally set off on her trip. To the mountains, or even the sea.

 “I take it you’re all sorted.” Metso, still in his slippers, shifted from foot to foot. “Can you see alright?”

 Kani wrapped her paws around his arm. “Yes, I can. I see you. In a new house where you can stand tall. And lilies-of-the-valley on a hillside. And Midsummer.”

Ivan Petrov is a novice writer with one story published in Aayo Magazine. As a teenager, he left his native Russia for Canada and now lives in the UK. He is a chemist by trade and has an MA in creative writing. His fairy tales for grown-ups explore fundamental questions at the intersection of science and philosophy. He can be found at www.ivanpetrov.co.uk.