Spoiler! :
….
Gatlin
....
The young man shivered in his cloak, his chapped hands cracking from the cold, dry air.
“Gattlin, you fool,” he muttered.
“Sure, that’s what Jonnalla’s saying right now! But she’ll see, as if she doesn’t already know, I’m not leaving. Not while mom’s around...If I’m even around…if…” He broke off, the gravity of his words reaching him. “If I’m not going to make it back,” he thought.
He shook his head, and continued trudging. The wind was too strong at the moment to fly, but he could still make a meager sort of progress walking. “Better than just sitting there, freezing to death,at any rate,” he told himself. He’d already picked up several sizeable sticks for a growing bundle of firewood, which, when the opportunity appeared, he’d quickly use.
It was around noon when he saw it; a shape in the snow. “ A log?” He wondered.
He dug at the shape with the toe of his boot, shuffling back suddenly when he realized what it was. The mass, he now saw, still-half-covered by snow, was hair.
“Merciful Keeper,” he muttered. “Who is this?”
He dropped the wood, stiffly, anxiously, lowered his head to look more closely at the shape. The unfortunate person appeared to still be breathing, judging by the slight rise and fall of the snow over its body.
“Hello?” he called.
The person in the snow moaned vaguely in reply.
Now he realized he was kneeling, kneeling despite the icy gush of snowy cold through his leggings to his knees—he recoiled at the frigidity, and immediately felt disgusted. “Whoever this I, they need me more than I need to be able to feel my knees,” he reproached himself mentally. He tried to bear the cold, looking down at the face of the person; a girl of perhaps sixteen, skin nearly green from the temperature. He took hold of her shoulder, and heaved her from the snowdrift. He shuffled a few awkward feet to the shade of a boulder, where he raked snow away with his feet to reveal a patch of rocky ground. He propped her against the side of the rock, and then took a few quick steps back to his bundle of wood, which he retrieved, and set to work building a fire.
…..
Verdeyan awoke to the crackle of a fire. She felt warmth searing her face, a cold, hardness behind her. Her vision revealed the dancing flames of a small campfire in front of her, and beside her, a teenage male wrapped in so much clothing his face was barely visible. He muttered something she didn’t comprehend, and thrust a bowl toward her. She reached out for it, but her hands shook, clumsy from the numbing cold, and he guided it to her mouth. She swallowed a salty hot broth before succumbing again to sleep.
He shook his arms, bending and stretching while he sat to stay warm. He stared meanwhile at the unconscious girl, wondering what he should do next, slowly drifting asleep himself after re-stocking the fire.
….
When Gattlin awoke, the snow was already melting, he supposed due to the sudden warm wind shooting up from the South. His companion still lay against the boulder, her breath making puffs of white in the air as she slept.
He sat for a few minutes, melting water in his pottery bowl on the embers from the night before. When the water qualified as tepid, he took the bowl off the coals and drank it. He put it back, adding some sticks to the coals to burn, and putting in more snow to melt, this time, for the girl.
He found his mind wandering. Who is she? He thought. Red hair, yellow-tan skin; probably Sleveten. It would be easier if we weren’t at war, he lamented.
.....
A male silhouette pierced the blur of gray sky and surrounding branches. He was standing over her, his body blocking Verdeyan’s view of her surroundings. She shrieked in terror as she realized the face belonged to a Raptein man. She thrashed about mindlessly, trying to stand, but too weak to do so.
“No, don’t, don’t struggle,” he said. He stepped forwards, the simple movement making Verdeyan’s mind race: He has a knife, I know it.
He unwrapped his outer cloak, then hunched down to hand it to the girl, who now lay still, a sickened look twisting her face. The garmet fell over her legs, where she left it, staring blankly at him, as if she didn’t know what to do with the cloak.
“You need it,” he said, taking it again and pulling it over her body. She visibly relaxed, confused thoughts falling again to silence and sleep.
He looked back, worried, before walking away, off into a haze of snow.
It was mid-morning, the second day he’d spent with her there near the boulder. He was weak, and she was weaker.
He had spent the morning looking through his meager supplies that he carried bundled in his belt pouches, pockets and bag, and was sorely disappointed. Only a few scraps of dried meat, three amber Johls, his fire-starter, and a handful of near-charcoal were his rewards. His mind flickered with dire predictions; " we’ll surely die; only enough meat for one of us to last a day; the wood here isn’t dry, we’ll die of frost in the night."
He spent a few minutes on stiff hands and knees, looking for dry wood in the nasty slushy mess of the forest floor. As his joints began to seize in their sockets, rigid with cold and numbness, he threw up his hands in despair. There simply was none left. Now that the temperature was above the freezing point, everything touched by the snow was going to be soaked. He threw away a piece of log he held in frustration.
“There’s no wood!” He shouted to the empty wilderness.
"No wood! We will freeze...." As soon as he said this, he knew it would be true.
"Unless...." he thought. "No, I can't do that. It would be murder...."
.....
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