Walking

House is beautiful. The best was when snow cleared and the moon shined it's blue light down on us, the beams reflecting and refracting, making House light up like a cold flame dancing in the walls. I don't see it so much. The moon shines down on us less these days, and I'm not often around to watch it.

I grew up in House. As did my wives. As did my husbands. And my sisters, and brothers, and children, and grandchildren. But we all get old, especially around the time we lose track of the grandchildren. I'm not sure how many now, I thought Evvy was pregnant last week, but turns out she had hers months ago.

Evvy was my youngest. My last. I knew it when I first felt her weight in my belly and the pain in my back. It took me some time to get over that girl, and as soon as I did, I started Walking.

My feet hurt. My hands were cold. I'd shut my eyes and wish that I was dead rather than in the tunnels. I think I kept going because it was all I knew how to do. A bear found me near the surface of my third Walk. Thought I was dead, and I don't think I minded too much. I'd raised my girls right, they treated their men good; House grew bigger every year. They would remember my name when I didn't come back.

I damn near laid down for that bear.

That something inside that kept me Walking didn't lay down, though. I was on my knees, Evvy in my eyes with House shining around her when my hand flew out and smashed that bear with my stick. You get them in the eyes, don't matter which, and they go down, stay down.

Beautiful fur, though. House ate happy when I dragged that beast down, and I got myself some warm mittens.

Whole point of the Walk, bringing in those bears. Sometimes they're funny, can't eat the meat, but they still have fur. You let them go, it's a risk, can't let them get in too close to the kids. My first man left for his Walk after my fifth girl. I'm not sure he could have stood by me for another one. Never gave him the chance to bounce a son on his knee. He's still coming back in, I hear talk, but I don't see him anymore. Don't come by many in the tunnels.

This was my last Walk. I knew it when I felt the weight in my feet and the pain in my hips. When you Walk you follow the tunnels you know. They take you around House, bring you back. Last Walk, you take a new tunnel.

I found one that led up near the surface. Climbed two days before I could hear the wind. The sound was even louder than my knees creaking. I heard one vicious snap, thought my leg was broken. Wind got louder. I looked up and found the jag above my head like the sky opening up; a big crack in the sky.

Then it did, and I ran. The ice fell down, piled with the snow, and I ran until the wind was quiet again. I stopped when I realized I'd dropped my stick. The part of me that kept going turned around to try and find it. The going was slow; despite the added cold of the crack in the sky, my knees were burning.