The newly condemned prisoner wished that her last few breaths weren't so bitterly cold.

She watched the mist of her breath, stunted and haggard, as she shuffled through the snow. It was an ugly day, the ugliest kind of day, seeping through her boots into her socks and her skin and her bones. She imagined the crunch of the jackboots behind her was the sound of winter gnawing on her marrow instead.

A gloved hand dug into her shoulder. She winced. He only adjusted his grip on her arm and yanked her harder. She now imagined being able to relocate the numbing chill to her bruised arms, and swallowed down a sigh.

One set of jackboots stopped to fumble with his canteen. His older compatriot fell back mid-yank, sending her stumbling forward; the younger one guffawed. The older soldier strode to him with a barking laugh, grabbing the canteen and punctuating his lessons with a smack upside the head.

The condemned prisoner ceased her march. She tilted her head to the sky; it was as grey as she'd ever seen it, covered by clouds and blurred by falling snow. 

She mouthed a silent prayer with closed eyes.

The older soldier's gloved hand pushed her forward again, nearly sending her careening into the snow. She regained her footing, if only just, and shuffled onward. 

Snow gave way to rock, and the crunching footsteps changed timbre, then stopped. The riverbank curved downward under the prisoner's feet. Both soldiers pushed her down to her knees. The water rushed below her bowed head. 

The soldiers stepped back. The younger groaned– his canteen was entangled with his rifle strap. His companion laughed a second time. 

The condemned remained fixated on the rushing water, collecting her final thoughts. She wished she could have died in the spring. Behind her, the younger soldier loaded his gun.

A movement in the river caught the prisoner's eye. An inky patch, unnaturally dark, formed a near-perfect whorl, slowly staining the water around it as it grew in size. She watched on, transfixed.

The younger soldier adjusted his sights, and the older one gently slapped her face– a reward for sitting still, she guessed. He glanced at the line drawn by her gaze. The younger soldier took aim.

The older soldier shouted, pointed. He'd seen the patch. No wonder, she thought. It was several feet wide by now and had started to swell. All of them stared dumbstruck as the ink pushed up from the surface, steadily taking shape, until a human figure emerged from the water and began to climb onto the riverbank.

Her movements were stiff and jerky, but the ink streaming from the crown of her head fell in sinuous waves, flowing down her hair onto her skin and dripping off in sheets to pool beneath her feet. Between the rivulets of ink, a scarred gunshot wound marked her chest. She took slow, painstaking steps, oblivious to her onlookers. The quaking younger soldier swung his rifle to her, shot, and missed.

The river woman swiftly turned her head, and for a moment the condemned caught sight of her eyes– an inky tempest poured in where life had left.

The woman tore toward them.

The soldiers shouted and fired shots that careened wide through the air. The condemned doubled over, screwed her eyes shut and covered her ears. Between her fingers came the sound of yells distorting into agony; she heaved, choked. 

There's no one way to be prepared to die, she was learning– a single shot now felt merciful. She bit her tongue, unable to decide between prayers, curses, or just continuing to turn her long-empty guts inside out, searching for crumbs at the bottom to lose. 

What she'd give for the kiss of the rifle now. An end without the anguish of waiting.

The sounds never grew closer before they ceased. She breathed in once, twice, then opened her eyes. 

The river woman had both dead soldiers by their scruffs and was dragging them down the slope of the riverbank, descending into the river without pause and followed by a trail of crimson, beige and inky grey. Her slow march was utterly silent, save for the sound of gravel scraping under the bodies. She never once glanced the way of the trembling onlooker nearby. The condemned, however, could only feel equal parts awe and horror as the woman disappeared into the water. 

The river bubbled and closed over her head, smoothing over all traces of her existence.

The condemned scrambled to her feet and hurried away, determined to go as far as her legs would go and then at least another hour on her hands and knees. As she ran on, through the snow and wind and biting cold, she only had one, panicked wonder– whether she had been saved, or cursed.