I had fought for survival through long, freezing nights. I had starved, I had nearly frozen to death, I had almost died of thirst. It was that winter. I, James Blake, had been made redundant. I had lost my possessions. My house. My family. My beautiful wife Juliette Silver-Blake had been taken by my best school mate and friend. She, the woman and love of my life, had betrayed me. And my sixteen-year-old son had rejected me. I missed my two-year-old daughter Leya with all my might. She was the only person who had not rejected me as a human being. The first time in my life when I was out here, lost in the Alaskan wilderness, freezing, I was almost thankful for the three revolvers in my jacket pocket and the sharp-edged hunting knife. He had been watching me for a while. He crept round me in a wide arc. He eyed me, lonely as he was at the moment, then came back later. At night he howled at the moon in the company of his pack. Why didn't he do anything to me? The wolf. I wished to die for heaven's sake. My life was ruined. I was ashamed of myself. That's why I'd gone into the wilderness. With no money. Not even my ID. But death took its time. Death took its time, as if it didn't want to take me with it. Weeping, I crawled up the snowy hill. I could no longer move my toes. I decided to jump down the cliffs into the icy sea. "Father Death, please come and get me," I shouted. Halfway up, I heard a woman's voice. It was Juliette. "James, turn back. -Turn back. Your daughter is on her deathbed. -She needs you now." "No!" I cried. "Nobody needs me. I want to...go to the godfather of death...and I want to... die. I... can't take it any more... endure. " Suddenly the wolf appeared. He was right above me. He snarled and raised his lashes. And he was not alone. A woman in a fur coat approached. She helped me up and I rode with her on the golden sledge pulled by four white wolves towards the mountains. She got up, opened the door of a log cabin and helped me to my feet.
I woke up in a warm, heated room. "Your condition was terrible," she said, "I hope you get better soon." She had a warm, light voice. She was sitting in front of the fireplace. Her hair was loose and lay in thick light blonde curls on her shoulders. She was petite and beautiful. Her eyes were a steely husky blue. She sighed indignantly. "Don't -ever- worship death," she said softly. "Why?" She smiled reservedly. "You'll soon see why." Her cool eyes fixed on me and ice-cold shivers crawled down my spine. She stood up.
To be continued.
Merci pour la lecture!
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