"I can't feel my toes."
"Where all cold. We don't need your narration."
"I'm just saying, I don't understand how anyone could bare this weather let alone live in it."
"Hey, at least we didn't have to go to Summer; those poor guys are probably melting in their armor by now."
Nodding back at this, I shut my mouth.
"Alright, boys...and ladies, we will be stopping here for the night. Squad Two, three of you get the fires started before we all freeze our leaves off. The other three of you split Squad One and find us something to eat. Squad Three you will stay with me and tend to the horses and help set up camp.
"Yes, sir," we all respond in unison.
Being part of Squad Two, I elect to help make the fires. The three of head into the woods looking for dead wood to use, which given the freezing weather is surprisingly hard to find. An hour later we've finally gathered enough to make our five fires.
I drop to the ground, using my body to block the biting wind as I start rubbing two sticks together. Soon enough a bit of smoke starts gathering. I blow a little, spinning the stick faster in my hands. A spark appears and a drop a small handful of dry pine needles on the tiny flame. It grows licking at the dead tree remains. Once I have a considerable flame going, I add some logs and head over to a new fire location.
"How did you do that," one of the other men asks pulling my cloak as I walk by. "My fingers are so cold, I can hardly hold this useless stick!"
"Take your hands out of your gloves and hold them in your armpits."
"What?!"
"Your core," I motion to his chest, "is warmer because it needs to keep you heart going. Your body doesn't think of your hands as important so it slows the blood flow to there; making your hands much colder."
He scoffs, but yanks of his glove and shoves one hand into his armpit.
"Umm," I mutter, "You may want to look at your hand."
He gives me a confused look as he slowly pulls his hand away from his body. "Oh! OH SWEET LAND OF FALL! MY HAND! MY—MY HAND!"
He can only stare and scream at what his now two fingered stump that was a hand.
Our commander rushes over to see what's going on. His eyes grow wide and he picks the glove up off the ground. There's something inside. I think I'm going to be sick as he dumps turns it over and three stubby fingers fall into the snow. "MY FINGERS!" Shouts the man as he tries to pick them up with his good hand, which is when I believe he realizes that hand isn't working so well either.
"Boys!" calls the commander. "Hold off on pitching the tents and build up these fires." He motions to my fire, "Use the fire from that one and get two more going. I want them so big the queen in Oktuber will be able to see them."
"Yes, sir," we reply, hurrying to fulfill his order.
~theeShadyLady~
