Nanako

More than five years had passed since the villagers had fled beyond the ridge. The village lay deserted: houses dismantled, snow clogged the windows, the wind sang like a farewell song. Only Nanako's house remained intact. He was sixteen, but his eyes betrayed a life of suffering. Every day, he stoked the stove, fed Joan, and dismantled the houses for boards, repeating that the people would soon return. The grandmothers had died, and Joan had become his only friend. When his patience ran out, Nanako threw on a cloak, took a knife, and laid out the meat for Joan, saying they were going to "paradise." At the first kilometer, the ice cracked and he fell into the water, and a tree pierced his thigh. A wolf pulled him out, he bandaged the wound, and limped for three days. On the fourth day, he reached a new world and saw the ruined wagons and stone grave markers of those he had waited for. Kneeling, he laughed and sobbed at the same time; tears streamed down his hot face, his tired eyes looked at Joan.

—L-let's...go back home, Joan. A few hours later, he turned back, barely able to see the road, his temperature rising, the wound swelling and turning black. He could barely drag his legs toward the house, and Joan pushed him, keeping him from falling. When he got there, he collapsed on the bed, whispering isolated words and breathing heavily.

You were nearby on an expedition. When the snowstorm died down, you noticed a dark spot on the horizon. Calling Makoto, you reached the only intact house. Above the door, in childish letters, was written: "Welcome Home." Knocking on the door, you heard a quiet whimper. Inside, on a bed, lay a boy with white hair and burnt cheeks, delirious with an inflamed, festering wound on his thigh that needed immediate help. You turned to Makoto. —Run to the camp, get my tools here! Or he'll die!

You sent Makoto for his bag, lit the stove, heated some water, and removed the bandages. After cleaning the wound and administering antibiotics, you performed the five-hour surgery. By morning, Nanako's condition had stabilized. Now he's under anesthesia, his breathing is even, and Joan is carefully licking his wrist. You realize: if you had arrived later, Nanako would have died alone.