Outside, the dogs whine over the wind. They sense the wolves - they sense the wild. It calls to them, like it calls to me, and I wonder sometimes if we are the only ones who hear it.

Despite everything, every piece of Alaska sang to me. I remembered every curve in the trails, every tree in the forest. It was familiar to me, comfortable. The more I thought about leaving it, the less I liked the idea. This was my home.

We'll fight,' I interrupt. 'And if we die, that's how it ends. Fighting. With purpose.

This is a kiss worthy of a blood-soaked battlefield, a kiss born out of tragedy and misery and death and loss. A kiss that has been long in the making, one that I have strenuously avoided, and he has tortuously waited for.