Ellie had pulled the blankets from the bed and was dragging them outside to shake them out. Through the open door, I watched her beat them against the porch railing, clouds of dust billowing into the night air mingling with the snowflakes. She was efficient, methodical, attacking the task with a focus that made me smile.
I found a bucket under the sink and filled it, then another. We'd need water for drinking, for cooking, and for washing. While the pump worked, I explored the rest of the cabin's resources. The canned goods were old but still sealed—beans, vegetables, some kind of stew. In a wooden chest near the bed, I found more blankets wrapped in what looked like waxed canvas. Someone had prepared this place for long absences.
Outside, the wind was building to a roar. Snow fell in thick flakes that swirled and danced in the lamplight spilling from the doorway. We had maybe thirty minutes before the worst of it hit.
I headed out, squinting against the sting of the wind. There was a wood pile at the side of the house, but not enough to weather a storm for days, which I feared might happen. Ellie was inside now, and through the window I saw her moving around with a broom, sweeping dust and debris toward the door. She'd tied her hair back, and there was something deeply satisfying about watching her claim the space, making it livable, making it ours.
I found several dead pines near the back of the house and made quick work of breaking the wood and adding it to the pile. I loaded my arms, making trip after trip until we had enough stacked on the porch to last days. The physical labor felt good, burning off some of the tension that had coiled in my muscles during the flight.
On my last trip out, I paused, my ears catching the sounds of the forest preparing for the storm. But there, maybe thirty yards into the treeline, I heard the soft rustle of several small animals. I leaned my head back and sniffed, filtering through the scents of snow and pine to the inviting aroma of fresh meat.
My stomach growled. We had food, but this would be better. The kind of meal that would restore strength and heat us from the inside out.
I flexed my wings, hovering just above the ground to move silently through the trees, my night vision sharpening. There—lingering at the base of a pine, two of them, fat small animals with long ears and thick coats. Rabbits, I believed they were called. I was on them before they knew it, my reflexes honed by years of hunting. Two quick strikes with my claws, clean kills. No suffering.
I field-dressed them quickly. The organs and pelts I buried deep for scavengers to find later. I just needed the meat.
When I pushed back through the cabin door, arms full of wood and rabbits, Ellie jumped. She'd been wiping down thetable with a damp cloth, and she spun around with one hand pressed to her chest.
"Jesus, you scared me!" She stopped, her eyes widening as she registered what I carried. "Are those rabbits? Did you just catch those?"
"We need protein." I moved to the kitchen, laying the rabbits on the now-clean counter. "And the canned goods should be saved for when I can't hunt."
She moved closer, peering at the rabbits with a mix of curiosity and something I couldn't quite read. Not disgust. I'd seen humans disgusted by fresh kills before, and this wasn't that. More like... assessment.
"I've never cooked a rabbit before," she said finally.
"I'll do it." I found a knife in one of the drawers and tested the edge against my thumb. Dull, but workable. "You've done enough. The cabin looks..."
I turned, really seeing the space for the first time since she'd started cleaning. The floors were swept, the surfaces wiped clean. She'd arranged the blankets on the bed in neat layers and had spread two more over the back of the sofa near the fire. The dishes from the shelves had been washed and stacked. Even the windows, what I could see of them, had been wiped clear of grime.
"It looks like a home," I finished quietly.
She smiled, a little shy, a little pleased. "I figured if we're going to be stuck here for a while, we might as well be comfortable." She pulled out one of the chairs and sat, watching me curiously. "So, how do you cook a rabbit?"
I started breaking down the meat, my knife work quick and sure. "We roast it over the fire. Slowly. The meat can be tough if you rush it." I'd never cooked a rabbit before, but that rule held for pretty much any type of game. I glanced at theshelves. "Can you see if there are any seasonings? Maybe some dried herbs?"
Ellie rummaged through the shelves, producing a small tin of salt and a jar of something called dried rosemary. "Will this work?"
"Perfect."
I found a cast-iron pot hanging near the fireplace and set it over the flames. A splash of water from the bucket, the rabbit pieces arranged inside, a generous pinch of salt, and a sprinkle of rosemary. The scent began to fill the cabin almost immediately—the savory, rich promise of a real meal.
Ellie moved to the sofa, curling into one corner with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She watched me, her expression soft and content despite the storm that now raged outside, shaking the walls and howling down the chimney.
I settled onto the floor beside the fireplace, close enough to tend the meat but angled so I could see her.
"Do you think Declan's people are still looking for us?" she asked after a moment, her gaze never leaving the flames.
"Yes." I stirred the pan, adjusting a piece of meat that threatened to stick.
She was quiet for a moment, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. Outside, something crashed—a branch, maybe, torn free by the wind. She flinched but didn't look away from me.
"How long do you think the storm will last?"
"A day, maybe two." I met her gaze across the small space. "We're safe here, Ellie."
She nodded, and some of the tension left her shoulders. "I know."
