Either these people were terrible trappers, or they had specific prey in mind. The human-shaped kind.
Nerves pricked along the back of my neck. “Do you think the wolf will step in one?”
“If it’s smart, it’ll follow our tracks,” Harthon said. “Any traps will likely get our horses first.”
I didn’t want that to happen, either. But with the snow beginning to coat the ground, it would be nearly impossible to spot any traps until we were on top of them.
“Hopefully that was the only one they forgot,” I said, like speaking it aloud might make it true.
Not an hour later, we’d fallen into a miserable silence as we trudged onward and upward, snow covering the world in a thin blanket of white. I was wondering how we’d stay warm tonight when, for a second, I thought my horse lost its footing.
But then it squealed—haunting, guttural sounds—and collapsed. I fell from the saddle, rolling away before its muscled body crushed me.
Instantly, I knew.
Harthon reached my side with unnatural speed, eyes frantic as he turned me onto my back and ran his hands over my body. After I caught my breath and reassured him I was fine, he examined the horse and confirmed what I already guessed with one bleak shake of his head.
A boulder sank in my gut. My horse’s front leg was crushed in a brutal trap. The noises the animal made…I couldn’t bear them.
“We can’t repair this, and it won’t survive up here,” Aric stated sullenly, producing a blade.
My ears started ringing. I nodded.
He did it quickly. I couldn’t watch, but I heard it—the sudden, eerie quiet.
That boulder grew heavier.
We couldn’t afford to dwell on it. I woodenly mounted Harthon’s stallion and tried to find comfort in his warmth as he came behind me, arms encircling me as he caught the reins.
“If we lose another, we turn around,” Aric said.
No one disagreed.
We didn’t lose any more horses or the wolf for the remainder of the day—only every ounce of heat I held in my body, save for the sphere radiating in my chest. By the time night fell, we’d nearly made it through an upper pass on the mountain and officially set foot in First.
A few small boulders provided our shelter for the night, shielding us from the worst of the wind. While the snow had stopped, the wet ground and chill of the air were unrelenting. There was no fire to temper the cold. No one was known to live this high in the mountains, but neither Aric nor Harthon wanted to risk a flame. I spent the night wrapped in Harthon’s arms, trying to focus on his heat rather than the frosty air in my lungs. The soft kisses he’d planted behind my ear were a pleasant distraction.
I awoke from a dead sleep to more snowfall, the sky still dark.
Harthon crouched over me, appearing even more hulking than usual with his extra layers. He took my hand and peeled away the glove. “Wiggle your fingers.”
I moved them, muscles stiff, joints aching.
He replaced the glove before repeating the process with my other hand. “Can you feel your toes?”
“Yes.” Between the wool socks and leather boots, my feet were better insulated than my hands. “If I couldn’t feel them or move my fingers, what would that mean?”
“Frostbite,” he answered, tugging my other glove back on. “It means your skin is frozen and dead.”
It really was incredible how many ways there were for a person to suffer.
He flicked my nose. “Feel this?”
I batted his hand away. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes.” His mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t want to see this lovely nose of yours cut away.”
My lips twisted at that mental image.
