"Oh my God," she breathed, turning in a slow circle. "Rickon, this is perfect."
She wasn't wrong. Even in the darkness, I could see that the cabin was more than just adequate. The logs were weathered but fitted tight, the chinking between them still mostly intact. The roof showed no obvious gaps or damage, and the stone chimney rose straight and true from one end. My ears picked up the sound of running water—a stream or creek somewhere close by, thirty, maybe forty yards to the east. Fresh water.
This would do. But the wind was picking up, carrying the sharp scent of incoming snow. We had minutes, not hours, to prepare.
"Come on." I grabbed our pack and started toward the porch, testing the first step before putting my full weight on it. The wood groaned but held.
Ellie hesitated at the base of the steps, her hand on the railing. "Rickon, we can't just... I mean, what if someone lives here?"
"Then they'll forgive us for not dying." I tried the door handle. Locked, but the wood around the mechanism was old and weathered. One solid shove and the lock gave way with a crack. The door swung inward, hinges protesting.
The smell hit me first—dust and disuse, the musty scent of a place long abandoned. No hint of recent human occupation, no lingering body odors or fresh food smells. I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting instantly to the deeper darkness.
"Nobody's been here for a long time," I said, reaching back to guide Ellie in behind me.
She crossed the threshold slowly, her breathing shallow and cautious. I found a lantern hanging by the door, and by some small miracle, it still had oil. A scrape of my claws on the lighting mechanism created a spark, and warm light bloomed through the single room.
Ellie's gasp was audible.
The cabin was small but well-appointed. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, and beside it sat a neat stack of split wood—dry, seasoned, ready to burn. Dusty shelves held rows of canned goods, their labels faded but still legible. A rough-hewn table stood in the center of the space with two chairs tucked beneath it. Against the far wall, a bed frame held a mattress piled high with blankets that looked thick and warm despite a coating of dust.
An old sofa, its fabric worn soft with age and use, sat facing the fireplace. Everything spoke of care, of someone who'd once loved this place.
"It's perfect," Ellie whispered, moving deeper into the room. Her fingers trailed along the table's edge, leaving tracks in the dust. "Someone's hunting cabin, maybe? Or a summer retreat?"
"Summer, winter, doesn't matter." I moved to the hearth, crouching to inspect the flue. Clear. No nests, no obstructions. "Right now, it's ours."
I began stacking wood in the fireplace. Behind me, I heard Ellie exploring—the soft sound of her footsteps, a cabinet door creaking open, her small exclamation of discovery.
"There are more blankets in here. And there's a hand pump over the sink. Do you think it works?"
The kindling caught, flames licking up around the larger logs. I stood, turning to find Ellie examining the small kitchen area with obvious delight. Her cheeks were flushed with cold and excitement, her eyes bright in the lamplight.
"We should test it," I suggested. "We'll need water."
But before I could move, she was suddenly there, crossing the space between us in three quick steps. Her arms wrapped around my waist, her face pressing against my chest as she squeezed tight.
"Thank you," she said, her voice muffled against my chest. "Thank you for finding this place. Thank you for keeping us safe."
My wings spread slightly, an instinctive response to the sudden embrace. I brought my arms around her, holding her close, feeling the way she trembled—not from fear or cold, but from relief and from something else that blossomed into the sweet scent of arousal.
"Ellie..."
She pulled back just enough to look up at me, and then she was rising on her toes, her hands sliding up to cup my face as she pressed her lips to mine.
The kiss was soft, grateful, sweet, and it ignited something fierce in my chest. My hands tightened on her waist, drawing her closer as I deepened the kiss, tasting her warmth, her relief, her trust. She made a small sound in the back of her throat, and her fingers threaded into my hair.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Her eyes were dark, pupils dilated, her lips pink and slightly swollen.
"As much as I would like to stand here and kiss you all night," I said, glancing toward the doorway where outside thewind was already starting to howl, "we need to get settled in before the storm hits."
I forced myself to release her, my hands sliding reluctantly from her waist. "You should see if any of those blankets are usable. I'll bring in more wood. We'll need it to keep the fire going through the storm."
She nodded, stepping back with visible effort, her cheeks flushed. "Okay. Yes. Practical things."
I moved to the kitchen area and began working the hand pump over the sink. It resisted at first, the mechanism stiff with disuse, but after several vigorous strokes, water began to sputter out—rusty brown at first, tasting of iron and minerals when I tested it with a fingertip, but I kept pumping. After a few minutes, it ran clearer, then finally clear, cold, and clean.
"Water's good," I called over my shoulder.
