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Vera is weary to the bone, but she strokes her sister’s dirty,she has—her voice—to soothe their spirits “The Snow Kingdoht never falls and white doves nest on telephone lines”

Long after Olga has fallen asleep, Vera is still stringing her pretty words together, changing the world around therow too heavy to keep open any longer, she kisses her sister’s bloody pal the metallic blood mixed with the sweetness of the honey She should have put some of the honey on her own blistered palm, but she didn’t think of it “Sleep now ”

“Will we see Maa asks sleepily

“Not to her hold “But soon ”

The day is sunny and bright If not for the Ger forward, forward, the birds would be singing here, the pine trees would be green instead of black As it is, the beauty of the place is long gone The trench is a huge, gaping slash in the earth, a mortal muddy wound Girls crawl all around it; soldiers run back and forth between here and the front line, not far away If this line breaks, if the Gerrad will fall This they all believe, so they keep digging, noand boht

Vera is trying not to think about anything except the spoon in her hand The pickax broke last week For a while she was lucky enough to find a spade, but she didn’t hide it well and one s with a serving spoon

All day long Stab, push, twist, pull Until her shoulder aches and her neck hurts and her blistered palms burn No amount of salt water can help (the honey and the old wo as well Her body is turning against her, it sees without complaint, but she can’t sleep or eat, and when the boa just stands there with a hand tented across her face, staring up at the planes

In the past feeeks, Vera has learned that anything can beco holes, watching people die, stepping over bodies, sa, who iddily when bombs explode around her

The air-raid alars out Girls and wo to one another, pushing each other aside

Olga is standing beside the trench, her dress torn and dirty Her long strawberry-blond hair is filthy, frizzy, and held back from her blackened face by a once-blue kerchief Overhead, Ger

Vera yells for her sister as she scra debris aside “Come on—”

“It sounds like Ma machine ”

Vera turns at that, looks back Olga is still standing there, too far away, her hand tented over her eyes

“Run!” Vera yells at the same time the bomb hits

Olga is there and gone, flung like a rag doll to the side She falls in a broken heap on the other side of the trench while debris rains down