“You’re right. It’s a threshold.” He booted the door shut and carried me over to the solitary bed, setting me down on it beside the things he’d collected from the shed.
The interior was dark and cold, but blessedly free from the driving snow and wind. When my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw we were in a single room with minimal furnishings. A large bed dominated the middle, with a small table on both sides, and two chairs. A chest sat along the wall beside the door, placed below one of two windows.
“These cabins have no electricity or heat,” he said, his breath visible. “But there are plenty of blankets, plus the sleeping bags, and we’re out of the wind and snow.”
He lit a small battery-operated lamp that sat on one of the tables, the light reaching out to the corners of the room. The glow revealed plank walls and our breath forming small clouds with each exhale. A gust of wind hit the wall to my left, but the building held true, without even a shudder.
“We’re stranded, aren’t we?” I removed my gloves and rubbed my hands together, trying to bring circulation back to my frozen fingers.
Becken glanced out the window, where snow accumulated on the glass, obscuring the view outside. “The storm’s getting worse. Even if our sorhoxes return to town without us, no one would attempt a rescue in these conditions.”
“No cell service up here, I assume?” I pulled my phone from my pocket, confirming the lack of bars.
“No.” He straightened from the fireplace. “The valley has limited coverage. The hotel has a landline and satellite internet, as do most of the other buildings in town and my cousin’s homes, but out here…” He spread his hands wide.
The reality of our situation settled in my stomach like a bad meal. Alone, in a remote cabin, with a male I barely knew, during a blizzard. My ankle throbbed, a reminder of my helplessness.
“Let me check that injury.” Becken sat on the bed by my feet. “Do you mind if I remove your boot?”
“Sure.” It was going to have to come off sometime.
I braced myself as he carefully undid the ties. His touch remained professional, but the intimacy of his large hands cradling my foot, his dark eyes focused with concern, sent warmth through me.
The boot came off, revealing a swollen ankle.
Becken frowned, his fingers probing gently along the joint, me wincing through it. “Not broken as far as I can tell. Sprained, probably. You’re lucky.”
“Lucky would’ve been not falling off in the first place.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “True. But considering the height of the fall and the terrain, a sprain is fortunate.”
“Professional experience talking?”
“I’ve seen worse injuries from smaller falls.” He stood. “There should be a first aid kit in the supply shed. I should’ve grabbed it while I was there. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into the storm again. The wind howled through the cracks in the door frame, reminding me how severe the weather had become. My stomach clenched at the thought of him navigating the worsening conditions.
The cabin felt different without him. Emptier, less secure. I hobbled to the window, using the wall for support, and peered out at the whiteout conditions. The snow fell so heavily now that I could barely see beyond a few feet.
The door burst open, sending a blast of frigid air through the room. Becken stepped inside, white coating his shoulders and hair, carrying a plastic container and a canvas bag.
“I found the first aid kit and some emergency supplies.” He set them on one of the tables. “Sit before you make that ankle worse. We need to elevate it. Keep you off it to give it a chance for the swelling to go down.”
Hopefully we wouldn’t be here that long.
I complied, more because standing had become painful than because he’d ordered it. He sat on the bed by my feet again, opening the first aid kit and removing bandages and a cold pack.
“This will help with the swelling.” He activated the chemical pack and after elevating my foot on one of the sleeping bags, he placed the ice pack on my ankle, his touch gentle. “Hold this here while I prepare the wrap.”
He unwrapped the plastic around the elastic bandage while I held the cold pack in place. The lamp cast long shadows across the small space, barely fighting back the darkness that pressed in from outside.
“You’ve done this before,” I said.
“Orcs heal quickly, but we’re not immune to injury.” He removed the cold pack and began wrapping my ankle. “Where I come from, everyone learns basic medical care.”
Same here. Mostly. “Is it part of your regular education?”
He nodded, focused on creating even pressure with the bandage. “Young orcs learn what they need to survive. Everything from healing, hunting, to crafting weapons.”
