He didn’t know what had happened to him. His mental faculties opened back up. He opened his eyes, his eyelashes crusted with ice. He lifted his arm to brush the snow from his face, and his hand brushed against the solid form embedded into his. He peered down, discovering that it was Eleanor. Her distinctive hat was huddled against his chest.
“Eleanor?” he said, terrified that she wouldn’t answer back. He touched her shoulder with his mittened hand. “Are you all right?”
Her head moved. Slowly her body shifted as she no doubt went through the same body checklist that he had. Was everything intact?
The chill at his back suddenly demanded his attention. The icy plaster against the rock dug into his back, working its cold through his layers.
Eleanor shifted, pushing herself away from him. She blinked up at him, her enormous brown eyes wide in fear. “I think I’m in one piece. Are you?”
“I think so.” He wiggled his toes, testing to see if anything was broken. His legs seemed to work. So did fingers on both hands. He was sure there were other problems, but the surge of panic and instinct throbbing through his veins was keeping the pain at bay. He struggled, squirming to sit up. “Can you move?”
Her teeth chattered as she nodded, moving to a sitting position also. She brushed the snow from her sleeves. He shivered, doing the same.
“What—what was that?” Eleanor asked, her whole body beginning to shake.
Tristan looked up, hoping to see where on the ridge they’d fallen from. But he couldn’t find it. They’d fallen quite far. He tried to get his bearings. The path of the fall was obvious. “My guess is a cornice.”
The frozen fog was thickening noticeably, and the wind was kicking up. They had to get moving. Tristan groaned as he picked himself up to standing. His whole body ached and screamed at him to lie down, but he couldn’t.
“Eleanor,” he said, about to warn her that they must move or risk their lives to exposure.
She got to her feet, her body moving slow and hunched, as if she were decades older than she was. “I know.” She met his gaze, the understanding clear there.
They were not near the path the others had been on. He hoped they would continue down and wait. Indeed, the safety plan was to reconnoiter at the location of their basecamp. In this case, the barn. If it were another mountain, Tristan would feel comfortable in his skills navigating them down. But that was because he knew mountains and snow from a different part of the world entirely.
This place, the Ben, it was different. The moisture in the air, the changeable mood of its weather—he didn’t know how to read it. He peered down the path ahead of them. Patches of scree were visible underneath snow, which meant they were nearing the snow line. If they could get to the tree line, they could have some kind of shelter.
“We must—” Tristan started, ready to explain his entire plan.
Eleanor put her hand on his arm. “We must. You lead. I will follow.”
He nodded, grateful for her serenity. Anyone would be forgiven hysterics following a slide such as that. But they didn’t have time for such antics. They needed to move, and Tristan felt his heart swell with pride at her forbearance.
Each step jarred his bones. He checked behind him, watching Eleanor stumble but follow faithfully. He could tell by the way her upper body swayed that she felt as bruised as he did, perhaps more.
The fog made it impossible for him to tell how late in the day it was, or how close the tree line might be. The wisest course would be to hole up somewhere and recover. They could finish the walk down in the morning, when they were rested. Perhaps. Rested, but also possibly frostbitten.
No, they would continue. The wind seemed colder, icier than it had on the way up. Was the wind picking up? He couldn’t tell.
Down they stumbled. His ribs turned from just sore to fiery pain. But they needed warmth. It was his single thought. The snow disappeared from beneath his feet, replaced with dark scree. He took a moment to watch Eleanor. “We’re past the snow.”
She looked up, sweeping their surroundings, nodding numbly. Tears filled her eyes.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, wondering if it was her spirit or her body that pained her.
“Let’s keep going,” she said, ignoring his question altogether.
Puzzled, Tristan turned and pressed on. They found sheep grazing the fields, and it was another benchmark. They were getting closer. Suddenly, an idea struck. “Do you think there would be a shepherd’s hut somewhere here?”
“Pardon?” Eleanor asked, her breath coming faster than it ought. Damn it, she was hurt and she was hiding it from him.
“A shepherd’s hut,” he repeated.
Eleanor shook her head. “I haven’t heard anyone speak of such a thing. With these winds?”
Tristan curled his fists in. She had a point. They hadn’t yet reached tree line, so there wasn’t any wood, and a shelter of any kind would blow over in the high winds the locals had described. They had to find something, though. He didn’t think either of them could get to Fort William on foot tonight.
But gullies were everywhere. He scanned the landscape. The fog wasn’t helping, but he saw one that might be deep enough to serve as decent shelter for the night.
