Free An Island Between Two Shores by Graham Wilson

won’t be even able to walk.”
    Sitting beside the river fishing felt more lonely than slumbering under the log. Fishing left too much time to explore her darker thoughts. Under the log she entered a dreamy twilight where she could escape the island in her dreams. Fishing was depressing and the raven was always waiting, reminding her of the odds of surviving the island. She looked at the river stirring in the gap and found the dappled ripples of the surface hypnotic.
    Liana turned and stumbled through the ankle-deep snow to her shelter. As she climbed under the log she heard the unmistakable flapping of the raven’s wings. She turned to watch her tormentor disappearing downriver. Its outstretched black wings beating powerfully as it climbed above the largest spruce trees bordering the water. Liana watched the raven slowly fade into the distance and felt immense envy at its ability to fly away. As it flew, it called its grotesque song, the croaking and groans gradually becoming softer and fading into silence.
    Liana was glad to see the raven fly away, but despite her dislike for the bird, she felt more alone than ever. She took a deep breath and looked at the distant forest before climbing under the log. With a sigh, Liana curled into the frozen gravel and closed her eyes. She braced for the frigid night. Another day had passed.

4
    L iana’s eyes opened bit by bit. They felt gritty and her vision was blurred. Another morning.
    Without getting to her feet, Liana lifted her shirts and jacket to check the cut on her hip. Her wound throbbed and itched, which she felt was a good sign of healing. She lay under the log and leaned into the watery sunlight that pierced the entrance to her chamber and tried to focus a beam squarely on the incision. The wound was red and angry but was starting to heal, which surprised Liana under the circumstances. She pushed on the skin around the cut and it pleased her that it seemed to be less sensitive to pressure.
    Liana pushed her matted auburn hair back from her forehead and braced for the reality outside of her shelter. Greasy tresses framed her gaunt, expressionless face. She carefully climbed out from beneath the log without disturbing the snow covering the pony wall. The more snow that accumulated on the wall, the warmer she felt at night. Once she was standing, the chill shrouded her like a heavy, restrictive cloak.
    The raven had returned. He clutched his perch on the root of the log feigning disinterest, while listening attentively to every word Liana spoke. Occasionally he preened his wing feathers, or pecked his jet-black beak at small imperfections or dirt. He watched Liana indirectly out of boredom. They were locked in a contest of stamina to see whose will was stronger. This tension motivated her to persevere with fishing and survive until the river froze into a temporary bridge.
    To throw the baited hook into the river, Liana now had to walk several feet onto the ice rim around the island. The ice was thin in places and Liana had to move carefully with short, gentle steps. She followed her footprints from previous mornings but the new snowfall made it more difficult for her to reach the fishing spot. Liana was clumsier and weaker, less alert and more uncoordinated, each day she remained on the island. She stumbled through the drifts with a slight stagger.
    Liana pulled her arm back and tossed the line into the sluggish current. It made a glint as it broke the glassy surface of the water and she watched the line sink into the eddy until it was hidden under the ice shelf. Silent and alert, she waited. The sun slowly tracked across the sky and the day passed as so many had with a mixture of disappointment and boredom.
    As sunset began to light the sky, Liana started to wind the line around her bare hand. After a few wraps, she gasped in disbelief. “The bait’s gone!” she whispered. As she inched forward a few steps, the ice cracked along several penetrating faults.