1 CHANGES

The train is changing. Inside the infirmary carriage, moths are gathering around the lamps; the thin white threads are winding around the doors to the medical cabins. There are unfamiliar noises—if she puts her ear to the cabin walls she can hear a ticking and scratching, as if the wood itself is growing. She has a flash of memory from her time outside—the sense of freedom, of boundaries expanding, despite the walls of the train around her. Even the habitual smell of the infirmary carriage, disinfectant mixed with oil, is fading beside an earthy, fragrant scent.

She follows the white threads, tangled now, with colors spreading within them, yellows and greens and the odd flash of red, as if mouths are opening up and closing. Some are creeping up the wall, some burrowing down through the floor like roots. She can't take her eyes off them. Is this what Rostov had felt? When he was drawn back to the Wastelands, did he feel this same mixture of repulsion and wonder? Did he take each step unsure if the ground beneath would hold?

The speaker beside her splutters into life. The Captain's voice. "We are approaching the Russian Wall…" A crackle of static. "… Please remain calm…"