Her eyes flutter open.
two
December
There’s spots of warmth against my back and side. A blessing when I’m so cold. I know I fell face first into the snow. I’m not walking. Why am I still moving? I don’t understand. Unable to open my eyes—does this mean I’m asleep? Is this a lucid dream? If it is, why can’t I focus and control what’s happening? Shouldn’t I know what’s going on in my own dream?
I try to speak but when I’m lowered to a soft surface all I want to do is snuggle into the warmth. Sadly, all I feel is clammy wet fur. I try to lift my hands, but nothing happens. So I must be dreaming. If I can’t control my physical body, perhaps putting actions into my dream will work. Imagining the cold fur disappearing doesn’t do a thing to warm me.
It's time to remember why I’m so cold. Time to wake up.
It’s a struggle then finally I’m able to blink open my eyes.
All I see is white with dark, blurry lines running across the expanse. A few more blinks and I recognize a ceiling with log beams. This isn’t familiar. Where am I?
There’s a shuffle of movement to one side and I move my eyes without turning my head. A man is staring at me, one handextended. My brows lower with suspicion. What is he trying to do?
He jerks his hand back to his side. “Uh, hello. You’re in my cabin. I’m Dane. Do you know your name?”
What an idiotic question. Of course I know my name. “December.”
“Yes, it’s December. What’s your name?”
I close my eyes. Why couldn’t my parents have given me a normal name? I have to explain why I’m named after the month I was born all the time. “No.” Realizing that sounded angry, I soften my voice. “My name is December. Most call me Deca.”
“I’m sorry, December. Do you know why you were wandering alone in the forest during a snowfall?”
“I’m cold and clammy. My cloak is wet.” Of course I know why I was out in the forest on the night of a full moon. I’ll explain later. I wiggle trying to ease the discomfort. “I’d like to be dry and warm.”
“Sorry. I was just going to remove your cloak when you woke up.”
“Thank you.” I struggle to sit and when I move my left leg pain spears through my ankle. I gasp and whimper.
“What’s wrong?” Dane kneels next me. Even with the distraction of my throbbing ankle, I notice how attractive he is. Dark, messy hair. A well-groomed beard hugging his jaw. Bright blue eyes full of curiosity.
“My ankle. I must have twisted it.”
He angles toward my feet and carefully pulls back the cloak. “Where’s your other shoe? You’re only wearing one. No, that’s not really important. Yes, your ankle is swollen. The cold probably kept you from feeling the pain. I think I’ve got something to wrap it with. Just stay still and I’ll be right back.”
Of course I don’t listen and swivel so I’m sitting on the edge of a denim covered futon. My wet cloak is growing moreuncomfortable so I struggle with the ties. They’ve turned from simple looping bows to tight, wet knots and my cold fingers fumble to get them opened. Finally I’m able to shove the damp fur from my shoulders.
“I’ve got a wrap and so?—.”
I look up at my unwitting host just as he turns his back to me.
“You’re… uh… you’ve got no… where are your clothes?” he manages to say.
Clothes? I glance down at my naked body. Oh, that’s right. “I left them in my car.”
“In your…” His shoulders rise and fall with his noisy breath. Sounds like he might be frustrated with me. “Hold on.”
He leaves the room and returns with a blanket. Head lowered, he holds it out to me. “Use this to cover up with for now.”
“I need to stand up. You’ll need to help.”
“Why? Just cover yourself.”
“My cloak is wet and cold. If I’m still sitting on it, a blanket’s really not going to be much help.”
