Signs of spring had started to appear. There was still snow, but the river ice was breaking up and unsafe to cross. The earliest wildflowers were beginning to bloom.

I studied the single set of footprints in the fresh mud on the river bank. I cast out to see if the owner was somewhere in the vicinity. The significantly extended range of my senses was a gift from Val, gained when we had merged.

I missed Val terribly.

I found the fisherman about a kilometer downstream, returning home with a few thin fish in his creel, and no danger to me. Nevertheless, this part of Russia didn’t have vast tracts of wilderness, and towns, farms, and roads were never very far away. With the improving weather, these woods would become more crowded with hikers and hunters.

Soon I wouldn’t be safe here. I wasn’t safe in Russia at all.

The train had been en route to Riga. I had no idea how far away that might be, but I decided to return to the rail tracks and head west when I got there. It wasn’t much of a plan.