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shake.
    What comes out of the forest knocks the breath out of me. For the fourth time that day, I gasp, despite myself. I watch in awe as one, then two, then four snowmobiles emerge from the forest. I have never seen so many of them in one place. I quickly bite my lip to keep my mouth closed and put my hands on my hips, trying to exude an air of authority. I’m not sure how well it is working, especially with my wine and vomit stained apron still tied around my waist, but I try my best.
    The power of the snowmobiles raises the ungroomed snow from the ground. My eyebrows coat with a thin layer of ice and my hair rises behind me. All of the unknown visitors are wearing helmets and protective glasses, so I can’t see their faces. Their anonymity seems like a shield, and I am suddenly very conscious of what I look like.
    The faceless rider in front continues driving until the mobile stands only a few centimeters in front of me. I hold my ground, although I am realistically terrified that it will keep driving straight through me. I can see my face reflected in the lenses of his dark glasses, and I’m glad that it doesn’t look frightened. The rider pulls his glasses up and I see that it is a relatively good-looking young man in his early twenties.
    “And who exactly are you, then?” He asks me.
    Well.
    So much for courtesy.
    But two can play this game.
    “You’re not in the position to ask questions,” I reply coldly. “Now let me ask: who are you?”
    “The less you know, the better,” he replies, adopting my cold tone. I raise my eyebrows.
    “Are you inviting a fight?” I challenge him. He rolls his eyes and my anger sparks inside of me, although his reaction is perfectly reasonable. If we were to fight, I would lose, and he knows that.
    “Just step aside and let us in, before anybody gets hurt.” He revs his snowmobile a few millimeters forward. I don’t budge.
    “Tell me who you are.” I lean forward and place my hand on the handlebar, “And why you’re here, and I’ll decide whether or not I want to let you in.”
    I am surprised that I haven’t faltered yet and I’m even more surprised that the snowmobiles haven’t run me through. The adrenaline rush of seeing motorized vehicles and more importantly, other people, people who could be anyone, cancels out the fear.
    The young man doesn’t answer me. Instead, he throws a hand toward the back. The young woman on the last snowmobile hops off and walks up to me. She lowers her glasses and looks into my eyes. I frown, but don’t break eye contact. There is something oddly mesmerizing about the blueness of her eyes. What is going on? I feel like she is analyzing me, but how can she do that just by looking at me?
    After several seconds, she seems to make a decision, although I’m not sure what about. She steps back and nods at the man in the front.
    “We are the Rebellion,” he says drawing himself up to his full height so that he looks down on me. “And we just want lodging.”
    The Rebellion.
    I stop breathing.
    The Rebellion.
    Here. In Hopetown.
    I let go of the handlebar and step back for the first time.
    The Rebellion that I’ve idolized for years, the Rebellion that I considered the last speck of hope in the world, the Rebellion that was almost a myth, and now, here they are, in front of me, as real as the fearful tremors in my hands.
                  How can that be? What does the Rebellion want in Hopetown ? I don’t believe it, I decide. It’s too perfect to be true. Things like this simply don’t happen.
    But...what if just this once, it did?
    My mind floods with emotions I can barely identify, but all I know is that my mind is begging for something, something more, anything more, and more was just dropped at my feet. More has arrived in the form of the Rebellion.
                  “The Rebellion,” I stammer, “But I thought…”
                  “You thought what?” The young man says, taking