Both would be exhausted within an hour. And the going would become slower and slower as they struggled.
When Damien began to show signs of weariness, falling back behind the mule, she reined Gulliver in. After sliding to the ground, she gave the animal’s neck a rub. “Well done, boy.” She’d had very little experience with horses, and none with mules, but this one seemed so affable that she couldn’t imagine why her people hadn’t gathered a whole herd of them. Finding enough food for the animals might be a challenge, but they certainly made travel easier.
Damien’s breathing came hard as he approached her. “What’s wrong?”
She stepped back from Gulliver. “I’ll walk now to stay warm. You ride awhile.”
He took in several breaths, maybe trying to catch enough air to speak. Or perhaps deciding whether to accept her offer. “Are you certain?”
She gave a sharp nod and moved to the mule’s head to stroke him there. Surely this would give Damien plenty of room to mount.
He gathered the reins and swung aboard with fluid grace, despite his size and exhaustion. As he adjusted his seat, his gaze lifted to the sky above. A frown deepened his expression, and she glanced upward, too. Had those clouds darkened since they started out? Their heaviness seemed greater than before, pressing down, shrouding the air around them. As much as she wanted to deny it, he was probably right that snow would fall again soon.
She started forward. They couldn’t lose a minute of travel.Lord, please keep the snow away, at least until we stop for the night.
The snow was falling too thick to go on much farther. Damien could barely see through the swirling curtain. Every time he’d suggested a place to stop for the night, Miss Durand refused. The first two times she’d jumped off the mule and insisted he ride if he was too tired to walk.
For such a quiet woman, she possessed a stubborn streak as wide as the Lake of the Hurons. Yet not evenshecould deny it was time to make camp now.
With the sun hidden behind so many layers of clouds, he couldn’t tell how late it was. Maybe around three or four in the afternoon? He could barely see his hand in front of his face, much less the landmarks he’d been watching for.
A shadow appeared through the white ahead, and he squinted to keep sight of it. The dark spot grew until it took the shape of trees.
Relief eased his insides. They would be stopping here no matter what.
Gulliver trudged along beside him, and Miss Durand didn’t even question when they entered the protection of the small grove.
The curtain of white eased beneath the tree cover, but the wind still howled around them. He couldn’t tell how far the woods stretched, but the trunks weren’t positioned very close to one another. Staying here would be better than riding out in the worst of the storm, but he’d have to string up his oilskins and some extra furs for protection from the elements.
At a place that seemed somewhat level, he halted. Gulliver did the same, dropping his head as he exhaled a long breath.
Damien turned to the woman. “We’ll stop here. I can’t see well enough in the storm to find the landmarks.”
She didn’t argue, just slipped down from the mule’s back. She kept a hand clutched tight to the saddle even after her feet found purchase in the snow. He knew well what she must be feeling—the stinging of a hundred bees in her feet and ankles as a surge of blood rushed through them.
He moved around to untie their packs. “Let’s get a fire started, then I’ll tie up furs to make a shelter.”
While he dug out the tinderbox and the dry wood he’d packed from the cave, Miss Durand cleared a circle of snow. There wasn’t such a thick layer under the trees, but if they had to construct a fire in an area with deep-packed snow, he could teach her a trick to build it on top of the crust.
After seven tries with Miss Durand attempting to block the wind from his tinderbox, they finally fanned a flame sturdy enough to light a shaving from the dry wood. But if he pulled his arms away, the wind would whip through and kill the flame. He glanced up at the woman. “Can you protect this for a minute?”
She crouched closer, wrapping her arms around the logs as he eased away.
They may not be able to keep a fire alive out here, but he wouldn’t give up until he’d given it his best effort. They both needed warmth.
He pulled out a stiff deerskin, one of his earlier attempts at scraping, when he’d still been learning the art. The hide had been too rigid to bring value in the trade room, but it made a good barrier against wet ground under his bedding.Hopefully, this pelt would be large enough to wrap around the fire and protect it from the wind on all sides.
By the time they’d positioned the skin to guard the logs from the worst of the gales, Miss Durand had nurtured the small flame to take hold of a second log. “I’ll stay with the fire.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the gusts.
Her gentle touch would likely draw out the flame better than he could do, so he turned his efforts to stretching oilskins and furs to make a shelter. Using everything he had that wouldn’t be required for bedding, he strung a top and two sides for their protection. The wind still found far too many ways inside. The way the blasts swirled, the drafts seemed to come from every direction.
Straightening, he eyed the woods around them. Maybe he could find enough branches to fill in the openings. They needed firewood to dry around the edges of the blaze, too.
He turned back to Miss Durand, who still knelt by the fire, which was a decent-sized flame by now. “I’m going to gather branches and wood.”
She nodded but didn’t turn away from her work. Hopefully, the fire was helping warm her, as well.
Damien patted Gulliver’s neck as he passed by the mule. He’d loosened the saddle but left it on to help protect the animal from the cold. Maybe he would be able to find a more sheltered place for the mount to spend the night. Good thing he still carried a bit of corn to feed him on days when there was no way to dig for fodder.
