I pull at the ice as fast as I can, taking glances at her face, hoping she’ll open her eyes.
The fact that she isn’t shivering and doesn’t respond at all to our presence or our actions tells me she’s far gone, caught in a death-like sleep that will certainly take her to the gods if we don’t get her warmed up—and carefully. Sudden heat can be as bad as no heat at all.
Skirra continues to dig beside her legs, making soft, whining noises. He doesn’t scratch her despite his frantic movements as he burrows into the impacted ice around her body.
Despite my bond of friendship with him, he’s a wild creature. I don’t command him. He does as he pleases. But he seems as determined as I am to help her.
Finally, I free her hand, taking care to lift it gently, slowly bending her arm at the elbow.
Her fingers are blue and icy cold, but I’m relieved to see that the black rot hasn’t set in yet.
Even as relief fills me, so does a new wave of anger.
There’s a ring of red around her wrist and, when I glance at her other hand, I see abrasions around that wrist, too.
She must have been bound at some point. In a similar sign of cruelty, some of her hair must have been torn out, since the loose strands are now caught in the tree’s bark.
Swallowing my anger, I focus on freeing her from the ice.
Carefully, I slide my hands around the sides of her hips and legs, working my way around her folded knees and back to her ankles, seeking her toes, checking that the ice isn’t clinging to them.
Her skin is brutally cold, leaching the warmth from my hands as I work, but I don’t resent the transference of body heat.
In fact, I need to give her more of it.
My leather chest plate will stop my body heat from reaching her, so as quickly as I can, I draw back; remove my scabbard, my coat, and the chest plate; and pull only the scabbard and coat back on again.
I check that my hunting knives are safely sheathed and I roll up the leather chest plate and squish it into the quiver with my arrows before I replace that on my back.
Finally ready, I gently leverage each of her limbs upward, scratching at the ice where I need to free her further. Now certain that the ice won’t tear her skin or her body, I slide my arms behind the woman’s back, pull her up against my chest and onto my lap, and close my coat around her.
She’s heavy in my arms in the way that the dying carry a weight that seems to pin them to the ground.
I grimace as my body heat races away from me and my heart pumps harder to counter the cold she brings with her.
Blowing out an exhale, I steady my mind and focus on breathing. On the strong beat of my heart. The knowledge and certainty that I am warm.
Iwillwarm her.
Carefully, I draw her left hand up to my chin, trying to be careful not to bend her fingers yet. I press her fingertips to thewarmth beneath my jaw until my skin cools and her hand is a little less cold.
Then I bring her fingertips to my lips, exhaling softly across them, a continuous, gentle warmth.
I know I can’t stay here for long.
Only a few minutes more.
Maybe not even that.
Skirra has settled beside me, but now he rises and snarls in the direction of the city, making a low hum of sound in his throat as his lips pull back from his teeth.
I recognize that snarl as a warning.
I can’t hear what he can hear, but there’s urgency in his growl.
We need to move.
Determined to keep her against me and within the folds of my coat, I draw to my feet and consider all the exits from this ravine.
