My brother’s expression is pale and drawn, every glimmer of happiness gone. “You’d better come back, Erik.”
With that, he jumps to his feet and hurries to the far end of the cabin, where we keep our spare clothing. Moments later, he reappears, his arms full of garments.
He deposits two sets of fur-lined clothes beside me and taps one of the piles. “These should fit her.”
I recognize the items as clothing he recently outgrew. He’s shot up over the last few months and could end up taller than me.
I beat back the realization that I might not have the chance to see that happen.
He doesn’t say anything more and I know better than to push a conversation with him. On the rare occasions that he chooses silence, breaking it doesn’t do anyone any good.
He pours himself a cup of steaming water from the pot before he retrieves his bow and arrow and disappears outside. I catch sight of Kori, the white wolf, padding up to him before the door closes.
The woman’s arm twitches against my chest, drawing my attention back to her.
I study her face carefully in case she’s about to open her eyes.
I prepare the words I need to speak:I found you in the snow. You were dying. If you want to leave, you can.
She doesn’t move again.
It seems she isn’t waking, after all. The tremor in her arm must have been reflex. Perhaps her muscles were remembering how to move.
I’m suddenly conscious that my lower shoulder feels damp, and when I adjust my position a little, I’m surprised to find tears leaking from her eyes.
I check her face again, but she hasn’t woken up.
Maybe the leaking of tears is a good sign.
Maybe it isn’t.
She’s warmer than she was before and a slight color has returned to her cheeks.
I’m torn between the need to keep her warm and the threat that will come to my family’s door if I linger here with her.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I inhale again the scent of her hair and listen to her breathing, deeper than before.
Deep enough.
Keeping the woman as covered and warm as possible, I shimmy away from her, nudging Skirra out of my way.
Reaching for my warmer clothing, I pull it on as fast as I can.
Then I take the garments Thoren brought, keeping the woman as wrapped in the fur as possible while I dress her in the cloth tunic and cloth pants first, followed by the fur-lined coat and pants.
I pull the boots over her feet and mittens over her hands but leave the cloths wrapped around her hands and feet to keep as much warmth in as possible.
Finally, I cocoon her in the fur she was already lying on.
All the while, Skirra remains nearby, watching me and giving a soft whine every now and then. He was insistent about digging her out of the snow and now it seems he’s as unrelenting about staying at her side.
“It’s up to you if you come with me,” I say to him, even though I know he won’t understand me. He’ll probably think we’re going on a hunting trip like we often do, at the end of which we’ll return home.
While he watches me, I hurry over to the satchel my father prepared, checking its contents before I arrange my weapons in their sheaths—my hunting knives at my waist plus my bow and arrows at my back.
Returning to the woman, I lift her into my arms, fur and all, sensing a little more life in her body, as if her soul is no longer trying to flee its physical cage.
I call quietly to my father, who appears from within the turret and descends the stairs.
