“Here,” I said, and knelt beside her. “Let me see it.”
She shook her head. “Just too much, too soon.”
I could see the joint, already swollen again, the skin purpled and hot. I rummaged in my pack for the last of the willow bark and tore it into strips with my teeth.
“We can’t stay out here,” she said, voice low. “If we do, we’ll freeze before the men catch us.”
“We need to get to that hut,” I said.
“It’s two miles, maybe less.”
“Then that’s where we go.”
I helped her up and slung her arm over my shoulder. She weighed nothing, but the tension in her body told me she was burning through every last scrap of will.
We picked our way through the brush, avoiding open spaces and doubling back twice when I heard something in the undergrowth. Not men, but animals, probably deer, maybe something bigger. Once, we stumbled on a set of prints in the snow, hooved and deep, but they trailed off into a thicket.
By the time we reached the sheepfold, the sky was a scabbed-over purple, the first hints of night crawling in around the trees. The hut was there, just as Scarlette had promised, though it looked more like a cave than a house: the roof half-collapsed, the door a hanging plank, and the chimney plugged with a bird’s nest and years of rot.
We went inside anyway. The floor was packed dirt, scattered with old straw and bits of sheep wool. In one corner, a pile of sticks and a crude hearth; in the other, the remains of a pallet, chewed up by mice. It was perfect.
We barricaded the door with a log and huddled in the darkest corner, the only light coming from a hole in the roof where the moon made a weak attempt at shining. The cold was immediate, but inside the hut it was a dry cold, less cruel than the wind.
Scarlette shivered, pulling the fur tight around her knees. I wrapped my arms around her, more for the practicality than the sentiment, though I could have fooled myself.
She said nothing for a long time. I listened to the sound of her breathing, the quiet tick of her teeth as she tried not to chatter. I wanted to say something comforting, but the world had never taught me that language.
Instead, I whispered, “They’re not getting you. Not while I’m here.”
She didn’t answer, but leaned against my chest and closed her eyes.
I stared at the crack in the roof, watched the stars emerge, and wondered what kind of fool I was to promise anything in a world that took pride in breaking its word.
The shadows bunched in the corners, growing teeth with every passing minute. I tried not to think of the men who’d been on our trail, how many or how close, or what they’d do if they found us boxed up in this place with nothing but a splintered bench for a weapon.
Scarlette was first to move. She peeled off the fur, wrung the sweat from her hair, and started digging through the pile of kindling that passed for firewood in this era. Her hands shook, but the rest of her was steady.
“We should light it,” she said, nodding at the cold hearth. “If we die of cold, the rest doesn’t matter.”
“Won’t they see the smoke?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Only if they’re looking up. They never do.”
I found a battered tinderbox near the door, flint and steel worn to the nub but still working. I knelt beside her, watched as she arranged the twigs with almost religious care, and struck the first spark. It took three tries, but finally a thin thread of smoke rose up, and then a flame, and then a small, stubborn heat that was ours alone.
The warmth didn’t reach more than a foot, but the light was a comfort. Scarlette held her hands to it, fingers splayed, then glanced at me through the curtain of her hair.
“You want the story now?” she said, half-mocking, half-daring me to care.
I grinned, though my face was stiff with cold. “If you’re offering.”
She sat back, the fire painting her face in gold and shadow. “The first time I ran away, I was seven. Agnes dared me. We hid out here for three days. Mother thought we’d been stolen by thefair folk.” She picked up a stick and rolled it between her fingers. “I almost wished it were true.”
“What happened?” I asked.
She smiled, teeth white in the gloom. “We came back. We always came back.”
I wanted to ask what changed, but the answer was obvious. The world had caught up, and now every hiding place was just a delay, not a reprieve.
