I awoke to Angelo tapping me on the shoulder. This was odd. He had never done this before. I did not mind; I was already well-rested. However, I immediately thought something was wrong. Perhaps I am paranoid. I asked him what went wrong over the night and if anyone was sick.

  He told me that he was just eager to learn how to shoot and the hunters already went out. They had let me sleep through the morning once again. Of course, I am not complaining. I told Angelo that I would teach him later today because I had to make sure that not one person had frostbite. He seemed satisfied with this. I told him I would teach him as soon as I was done. I started with him to make up for the time lost. He thankfully does not have any sign of it.

  I went through all of the people who managed our supplies first. Mosao, Krishna, Louis, Lucas, and William the Aussie were free of frostbite. It took me quite a moment to track down Krishna, for he was gathering firewood in a nearby stretch of forestry. I then went to the scouters and checked them for it. Igor, Roy, Georges, and Antonio were free of it, but Henry's finger looked too white to be his natural skin tone, so I made him stay by the fire until his hands returned to their natural color. I then checked Lawrence, Daniel, and Yuri, to which none of them had it. When the hunters came back with lots of game, I checked them too. None of them had it. I can only marvel how God protects us from the cold.

  After a minute of sitting by the fire, Angelo came and sat beside me. He was silent for a while, warming up his hands. I told him he was doing right by that and he should do it every once and a while to make sure frostbite doesn't catch him in his tracks. If frostbite touches Angelo, the rest of us will surely be long dead.

  He then asked me once more if I could teach him how to shoot. He seemed very eager to finally know. I wondered at that moment if he had retained anything from Roy's teachings. It appeared that he did not. I wasn't as eager as he was. To shoot is a vital thing, however, I feel as if Angelo shouldn't have to know. As I was contemplating this, I had a thought. I questioned how he didn't know how to shoot. He was in the Italian Army, after all. He should have some experience.

  "My job in the Italian Army was odd. They realized I was young too, but didn't want to go through the trouble of sending me home. They made me like the messenger of the unit I was in; the runner boy essentially. Anything they needed done that wasn't fighting and there was no one else to do it; well... I'd do it. I learned a lot of odd jobs. That's what got me here now. Other than that, I didn't learn much. They tried to teach me to shoot once, but it didn't go over well. They didn't even really let me train with the others either," he explained to me. I told him that I understand and I would love to teach him.

  I got a rifle and some ammo from our supplies and ventured to the stretch of trees beside our camp. The hunters had long came back, so I was not worried in the slightest for us. Yet, I stayed in the sight of the camp to make sure that if something happened, they would be able to tell. Despite this, I walked us until we were far away enough that they wouldn't hear the gunshots as well and they wouldn't pay much attention.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  I gave the rifle to Angelo quickly as soon as we got there. I began explaining, telling him to split the barrel to load it. He didn't seem to understand, so I showed him. He then did what I said and loaded it with the extra ammo. We practically have buckets of ammo, so it will be fine. I put it into his shoulder after he closed it and told him to look down the barrel to the tree in front of us. After the rest of the instructions, he pulled the hammer back and pulled the trigger. He hit the tree almost directly.

  I congratulated him and let him continue to shoot. Angelo had managed to go through three rounds before I heard a rustling behind me and told him to give me the rifle. I loaded it with another round and pulled back the hammer, ready to strike at any time. Out of the undergrowth emerged Antonio. I gave the gun back to Angelo and Antonio sat down his own rifle.

  He clutched his heart, "Oh, it's you two. You scared me very badly. I thought that there was someone out here headed towards us or something. You almost gave me a heart attack."

  I questioned whether he alerted the rest of the group to the gunshots, and he said he did not. I am very grateful for Antonio's bravery. Without it, Angelo and I could be dead. After this, we headed back to camp. On the way back, both of them were talking about the Italian Army in very fast, thick accents. They were stating and restating how they didn't like the organization of it and how they liked the special forces much better. I only now realize that they were probably speaking Italian and I was so used to hearing foreign languages that I didn't notice. This has been happening quite often, even to languages I don't know well.

  It was almost night when we got back, so we sat around the fire and talked. The hunters had prepared some of their game and cooked for us all. They had caught much today and they were especially proud of it. Yuri seemed satisfied with all they caught, muttering how it would surely allow us to survive for the next few days if our food was caught off.

  This reminded me that I wanted to ask Igor if he was worried about the snow. I walked to him and gave him a small wave. He responded with a stressed smile. At that moment, I realized that I really don't know how to communicate with the guy and I should go get Yuri. However, I knew that if I asked, Yuri would probably tell me what he was thinking instead of what Igor was. Therefore, I had to push through.

  I first tried English. I was thinking that he had spent so much time with us that he surely knows a little bit of English. He doesn't, which is annoying. I then pointed to the snow and then to the sky. He just seemed confused. My last effort was me trying to speak the little bit of Russian I know. I thought for a long moment and summoned a long forgotten memory of my past to speak it. It took a great deal of effort. He seemed to thankfully understand the absolute slandering attempt of my Russian and he looked to the sky, grimacing. He had indecisive eyes and a disturbed look after this. He gave me an unsure thumbs up. I am taking that as he is worried, but the weather here is practically unpredictable, so he is not completely sure. Then again, I don't speak Russian or understand him. I will never know what he says or thinks unless he learns one of my languages. I could never learn Russian.

  I am now worried about the snow. How bad does it have to be that the brave and browbeating Russians are afraid? It must surely be the worst snow all of us will see in our lifetimes. The cold is already miserable and harsh enough as it is. We will not be able to take much more of this before we have to give up. Perhaps that is just my tired mind speaking, but I believe not.