Her numb feet were like lead inside her boots. Every root and rock was an obstacle, no matter how she wanted to lift her foot and step over it. Again and again, she tripped and stumbled, sometimes catching herself on a tree, and sometimes plummeting to the brown leaf litter with a thud. The icy wind was a torment, pressing her damp, frost-crusted clothing to her skin, sucking every ounce of warmth that her body strove to muster.
She longed to shed the extra weight of the bow, quiver, and pack that rattled against her back. What good would it all do if she collapsed and froze to death among the barren trees? Her breath dragged reluctantly through her throat as she stopped to lean against a half-rotted stump. The bitter wind stung her eyes, and crunchy strands of frozen, copper-colored hair butted against her cheeks. Blinking the blurry tears away, she noticed a little hollow just behind the remains of the tree. It was not big enough for a person to curl up inside, but perhaps it would hold the burdensome items. Quivering fingers struggled to loosen the straps that ran across her body, and one by one, the weapons and the waterlogged bag were dropped into the depression. She did not trust herself to kneel or crouch down, so a shaky foot did its best to scoop leaves and pine needles overtop, hiding them from view.
Remember, child, a soft, bass voice echoed within her head. Keep moving. You're almost there.
"Almost where, Pa?" she mumbled to the air. Pushing away from the stump, her feet dragged on, aimlessly carrying her through the unfamiliar wood. An endless parade, it seemed, of brown trunks, drab, grey skies, and lifeless earth. Walking felt a little easier now, a little lighter, without the weight she had shed. Her lungs rasped against the frozen air, wheezing with stubborn determination. She noticed that she could feel her hands a bit, aching and prickling as the blood sought to warm the cold digits.
With each passing minute, as her pulse quickened and her nerves and muscles endeavored to reawaken, her mind also became more alert. Vague images flitted about in her thoughts. Faces of people she could not name. Tense, grim eyes and worried voices. A looming sense of dread came over her, as if something terribly dangerous lay behind. The feeling spurred her on, quickening her pace.
It was impossible to see the sun behind the blanket of slate-painted clouds. But she felt the day wearing on, and the dim, grey light waning, little by little. Half-dried, her clothes were still damp and chilled against her skin, and she could feel little beyond the throbbing rhythm of her heart beating, and the way it rattled along her bones. Her face began to grow hot, her cheeks blazing, and dizziness swept over her.
There, now, said the comforting voice again. Look up. Look up, darling.
"What, Pa?" she slurred drunkenly, dragging her head upwards.
A cabin loomed ahead in the fading light. Dark and uninviting. No light in the windows, no smoke from the chimney. Dead vines trailed over the roof and crawled along the window sills. The front door hung askew on broken hinges.
She did not stop to think, but hurriedly scrambled forward, tripping her way up onto the porch. Her trembling hands fought briefly with the sagging door, and she wormed her way through the gap with an irritable groan. Two steps were taken inside before she collapsed to her knees.
The air felt almost colder than it had outside. But there was no wind. She felt the fever creeping through her with nauseating persistence, crawling upwards through her skull. Her eyes raked over the single room of the small house. A broken table sat lopsided against one wall, its leg missing. An overturned chair. Open cupboards along one wall. A black, cold hearth. And then, a sight that made her whimper with relief; a bed.
She did not think about how rotted the mattress must be. Nor about the dead things that probably lurked beneath the abandoned blanket that brushed the dust-covered floor. She crawled on hands and knees, stopping beside the bed to tug off every bit of her torturous, wet clothing. Her boots clattered aside, her cloak flung after them. The battle to strip the clammy garments from her flesh took too long, leaving her in a sickly, cold sweat. But at long last, she prevailed, and dragged her naked body under the wool blanket. She curled into a shuddering ball, pulling her head beneath, praying that her exhaled breath would be enough to warm the cocoon, and keep her alive until morning.
