Okay. Probably a tree. I change course slightly, aiming for it, because even a tree would provide some shelter from the wind. I can hunker down, wait out the worst of the storm, hope someone finds me before I freeze to death.
My ankle gives out three feet from the dark shape, and I crash into the snow for the second time. This time, I don't get up. Can't get up. My muscles have stopped listening to my brain, and the cold has seeped so deep it feels almost warm now, which I remember from some survival show means I'm dying.
"No." I crawl forward on my elbows, dragging myself through the powder. "Not dying in the snow. I refuse. I have content to post."
My hand touches something solid. Not a tree. A boot. An actual human boot attached to an actual human leg.
I look up.
The man staring down at me looks like he walked out of a survival show himself, or maybe a lumberjack calendar, or possibly my fever dreams. Tall. Built. A beard covering the lower half of his face, dark hair escaping from a wool cap, and eyes that are the pale gray of the storm itself. He's wearing layers of weathered outdoor gear, carrying a rifle over one shoulder, and his expression is absolutely blank.
"Hi," I manage through chattering teeth. "I'm lost."
He doesn't say anything. Just looks at me, sprawled in the snow at his feet like a half frozen offering from the blizzard gods.
"My phone died. And I can't find the trail. And I think my ankle might be twisted. And I'm pretty sure I'm dying but I'd really rather not."
Still nothing. Not even a blink.
"Are you... do you speak English? Hablas español? I only know like twelve words of Spanish but I'm willing to try if?—"
He bends down and picks me up.
Just like that. One arm under my knees, one arm behind my back, and suddenly I'm pressed against a chest that feels like a furnace through all my layers. I make an embarrassing sound that's half gasp and half whimper, and his arms tighten fractionally before he starts walking.
"Oh. Okay. We're doing this. That's fine. This is fine." I'm babbling, I know I'm babbling, but my brain and my mouth have disconnected from each other and the words just keep coming. "I'm Sadie, by the way. Sadie Chen. I make outdoor content. Which is ironic given the current situation, but usually I'm much better at this. The outdoors, I mean. Not being carried by strange men. That's actually never happened before."
He doesn't respond. Doesn't even look at me. Just carries me through the storm like I weigh nothing, his boots somehow finding solid ground through the drifts that kept tripping me.
"Where are we going? Do you have a car? A cabin? A time machine that can take me back to this morning so I can make better choices?"
Nothing.
"Strong silent type. Got it. That's cool. I talk enough for two people anyway. Or so I've been told. Frequently. Often by people who were trying to get me to shut up." I curl closer to his warmth, my fingers finding the fabric of his jacket and gripping tight. "Thank you. For finding me. I know I probably seem like an idiot right now, and honestly I feel like one, but I really didn't mean to get lost. The GPS was working fine and then it wasn't and?—"
He makes a sound. Low, rumbling, somewhere between a grunt and a growl. It might mean shut up or you're welcome or I'm going to eat you for dinner. I have no way of knowing.
The snow keeps falling, the wind keeps howling, and my mysterious savior keeps walking.
Time does something weird after that. Stretches and compresses at random intervals. I drift in and out, his heartbeat steady against my ear, his arms never wavering. At some point the trees thin out and I catch a glimpse of a building, a cabin, light glowing warm behind frost covered windows.
He kicks the door open and carries me inside.
The heat hits me like a wall, almost painful after so long in the cold. I cry out, and his grip shifts, adjusting me against him as he crosses to a massive stone fireplace where a fire crackles and pops. He sets me down on a leather couch that smells like wood smoke and pine, then steps back and stands there, watching me.
"Thank you," I say again, because I don't know what else to say. "Really. You saved my life."
His eyes move over me, assessing. Taking inventory. His jaw works beneath his beard, and I realize he's younger than I first thought. Maybe mid thirties. Hard to tell with all the mountain man aesthetic going on.
"Your ankle." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in a while. Deep. Two words, and I feel them vibrate somewhere in my chest.
"Twisted. I think. It hurts but I can move it."
He kneels in front of the couch, and my breath catches at how big he is, how close. His hands, huge and scarred and surprisingly gentle, reach for my boot. He unlaces it slowly, carefully, easing it off in a way that minimizes the pain. My sock comes next, and then his fingers are probing my ankle, checking the joint, testing the range of motion.
I hiss when he hits a tender spot.
"Not broken." He releases my foot and stands. "Stay."
