The First Snow in the Mountain Hut, and the House Where the Fire Went Out

The mountain hut along the cliff of the pass was enough to shield me from the sudden blizzard. The smell of the firewood lit by the hunter who arrived before me temporarily masked the scent of mud soaked into my collection bag. Along the cuff of his raincoat, a row of staples crudely patched a tear. To my eyes, they looked like the suture scars of brass arrows that had barely warded off an enemy assault. Looking at objects in such a way is a bad habit of mine.

Shaving dried meat, the hunter told me about Haruna Village. The house of the family I was searching for—the owners of the engraved canteen—was reduced to ashes in a fire last week. Fortunately, the family survived, but they are currently staying at my mother Isa's house.

My mother's house. The very place where I keep sending false letters, claiming that Noya is still "missing." To deliver this canteen, I must step right into the heart of my own lie. I must head down to the village before the snow closes the pass.

The lives I have delivered so far number forty-three. I still remember every single voice of those who never returned. In my ledger, I write down the new delivery address.

Haruna Village, Isa's house.
—Indeed, it has been delivered.