1
Cassian rapped twice on the heavy metal door, "Male entering," He called out.
The conversations around him choked off into whispers. Most of the girls were staring at him, several had the nerve to glare.
"Where's Archeron?"
None answered. A ripple of murmurs tore through the room
"Fine. Her bunk. Where is her bunk?"
Still nothing. Cassian's composure went up like a room full of matches.
He flipped the nearest bunk, and began to sweep everything resting on top of the nearest trunk into the floor.
"General!" A woman too calm to be the owner of the bunk interjected.
"She was set to scrub and salt floors today. On the mainstreet in town. If she's not in camp then she probably got herself stuck out there."
Cassian paled. "Clean this place up. Everyone's on half rations until it's been inspected for proper order."
Multiple soldiers began to fume as Cassian left. He ignored them all. If anyone stood up to protest, he didn't notice.
What few buildings existed in town sat perched on a connected platform of wooden boards. In this weather, he could think of no one who would bother making such a trip.
Cleaning and salting the boards. Truly a fool's errand if there ever was one.
His anger continued to boil over though his walking did much to require his full attention. The snow had built to such a point that his usual long strides were clipped to a strenuous knee-to-chest pattern so slow that he spread his wings and took off instead, landing with a heavy clunk in front of the general store.
The walkway had been swept clear, the boards carefully salted.
Cassian tried the nearest door and the next, but found them both to be locked. He made his way to the diner and pounded hard of the glass door. Mrs. Miran looked irritated as she stomped to the door in a massive pink nightdress, her murky brown hair unraveled to one side of her face.
"What is it now, Cassian?"
"Nesta," he got out, just having realized that he was breathless. "Where is she?"
"I sent her home when this mess started, though I see she stayed to finish her task…"
Cassian didn't stay to thank her, nor to berate her for having set Nesta such a task in the first place, though he wanted to.
He let his feet carry him back to the snow to walk back the way he had flew in. His mind was a jumbled mess as he picked his way through heavy snowdrifts.
Not even halfway back to camp he caught sight of a torn blue cape half-buried on the roadside.
Nesta was still attached to it, wearing only a simple workdress underneath, her only protection from the intense cold. Her only protection until now. Until Cassian. Until he gathered her up into his arms and held her close even as they reentered camp.
The door to his cabin didn't open easily. It took a combination of kicking down the snow and jerking the handle back until he finally got it open.
He tipped Nesta into a chair by the fire and began unlacing her boots and unbuckling her belt. Her heavy skirts fell, soaked through with water.
When he finished, she was left in a white cotton slip that hung to her calves. It was a wonder that it had stayed dry and he swore under his breath that she hadn't been allowed to keep any of the military garb once it had been determined that she was untrainable.
How long had she been braving the weather in just that ratty old cape? If she caught her death of cold, he would have no one to blame but himself.
He brushed melted ice back from her face and out of her matted hair. Nesta whimpered through her exhaustion.
Relieved at this sign if life, Cassian gathered her up again and lay her gently in his bed, covering her with his quilt.
He placed two more logs into the fire, and draped her clothes over the nearby rack to dry.
After a while, he removed his boots too, and tucked his wings in tightly, before he slid into bed next to Nesta. Careful. Always so careful not to touch her.