As they went on, Sandy found herself talking just so Anastasia would look her way and she could check to see whether her lips were actually turning blue.  But no matter how many times she looked, the light wasn’t good enough to tell for sure.

“So…” she said this time, “At the carol concert…”

“Ugh.  Don’t ask.”  Anastasia pressed her (possibly-blue) lips together in a scowl.  “Him.”

Sandy stayed quiet for a moment, then asked.  “How long’s he been living with you?”

“Oh, he’s not living with us,” said Anastasia, falsely light-hearted, “We’re living with him.”

“What do you mean?”

Anastasia nodded to something behind her (definitely the wrong colour).  “Well, that’s his house back there.  Not ours.”

“OK.  How long have you been living with him?”

“A few months.  They’re supposed to…”

And then she slipped.  She seemed to disappear into the night.

Sandy ran ahead- stupid, she knew, but she was panicking- and didn’t see the icy patch until she’d already slipped on it herself.  Her foot went sideways and she grabbed at the branch, forgetting all about the thorns and what Keeley had said, seeing nothing but darkness above and below until she finally caught hold of something.

Sandy was gripping the underside of the branch.  Anastasia was a little way ahead of her, legs dangling over the side.  And if they fell, they’d be falling for miles.

Anastasia moved first.  She wriggled from side to side, and then, just as Sandy was about to yell at her to stop, she got hold of something (one of the thorns, most likely) and pulled herself up.  There were a few seconds of her getting her breath back, and then Sandy felt Anastasia’s hand on her arm, pulling her upwards.

It seemed to be going well for a moment, but something went wrong- maybe when Sandy tried to grab Anastasia’s arm with her free hand- and they both went down again.  Sandy was upside-down, her hair hanging down below her, and she was only attached to the branch by her legs, still clamped around it like a vice.

Something wrenched at her arm, and Sandy flew upwards.  Anastasia was kneeling on the branch, with both hands on Sandy’s arm, and she was pulling for dear life.  Sandy felt as if her shoulder was about to dislocate, but within seconds, she was laid out across the branch.  She was on solid ground again.  Or as close as you were going to get all the way up here.

Anastasia sat with her hands on her calves, breathing deeply like an Olympic athlete after the event was finished.  It took Sandy a moment to notice the blood on her arm.

As soon as she had enough breath to talk, Sandy asked, “Did you do that on one of the thorns?”

“Hm?”   Anastasia checked her arm.  “Oh, yeah.  I guess I must have.”

Prick your finger on one of them, your hand’ll swell up and explode.  “We should go back.”

Anastasia waved a hand.  “What?  No.  I’ve had worse than this.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know what’s on those thorns.  We just…”

“It’ll be fine.  If there was something dangerous about it, we’d know by now.”

“But…”

“It’ll be fine.  Come on.”  Anastasia stood up and walked on.  But before she did, Sandy got a good enough look at her to say for sure.  Her lips were definitely blue now.

(To be continued)