The Rescue Volunteer – Part 2: First Light

They climbed to the ridge at dawn on the last day of the season.

It was a training exercise, a quiet climb with nothing at stake. The sky was clear and cold, shaded from deep blue to rose. Below them, the glacier lay silent and white, ribbed and enormous, carved between towering peaks. The air was thin and sweet. Theo's legs ached. His heart was light.

Ludo stopped at the crest. "Here."

They sat on a flat rock, shoulder to shoulder, with a thermos of black coffee between them. The first sun slid over the eastern summit and lit the whole range at once: gold on ice, rose on rock, blazing white on the highest snows. Theo gasped.

"It never stops," he whispered.

"No."

"How long have you been coming up here?"

"Twelve years. Every dawn that I can."

"Alone?"

"Mostly." Ludo turned the cup in his hands. "Lately, I have been hoping not to."

Theo's breath caught. The wind stirred the snow along the ridge. A raven wheeled over the glacier, black against the gold.

"Can I ask you something?" said Theo.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you? I think I've wanted to since the first night."

Ludo's face broke into a slow, astonished smile. "Yes," he said. "And if you say stop, you must come up here with me every dawn."

"That isn't a punishment."

"No."

Theo kissed him, cold-nosed and warm-mouthed, a gloved hand rising to the grey hat. Ludo kissed him back with a deep, steady tenderness, tasting of coffee and mountain air. The sun poured down, blinding and warm. The glacier shone below them like a river of light.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Ludo.

"Green," said Theo. "Very green."

They climb at dawn every day they can. Neither goes alone. The team calls them the lamp and the shadow, and neither of them says which is which.

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