"Do you see them?" The pilot shook his head and both men continued scanning the ground below. There had been no mistaking the distress in Yuffie's call - in fact, Barrett thought absently, if he and Cid hadn't both been convinced that something was terribly wrong, they'd still be hanging out with Tifa and making sure all was okay at the cabin. Cid seemed to sense the other man's worry.

"Tifa's a helluva fighter. She'll be fine." Cid was glad Barrett nodded without turning around, as he had the sinking feeling that the confidence in his voice did not extend to his facial expression. With a sigh he squinted at the beach, looking for any sign of diminutive ninja or red cosmoe. Barrett's cursing yelp caused the pilot to nearly choke on his cigarette. Pitching the offending tobacco stick over the side, he rushed across the deck to where the big man was standing, yelling for the ship to land and land fast.

"What the hell are you yel-HOLY SHIT!" Part of Cid was glad he'd already tossed his cigarette away, otherwise it would have probably fallen out of his shock-dropped jaw and set his foot on fire. "Land the ship you fucking morons!!!" In rapt impatience they stood as the ship lowered swiftly, wondering if it would be quick enough to save their friends from the towering nightmare that had broken out of the forest and was running straight towards them.

The Highwind was still landing when Barrett threw the rope ladder over the side and leaped after it, catching hold as he fell past it and all but jumping down the rest of the way, only to launch himself off of it when it was still more than ten feet off the ground. Muttering about stupid hero wannabes, Cid followed at a safer pace and caught up with the black man, and the two of them hauled ass across the beach to their obviously exhausted companions.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The dark shadow of the cabin showed easily against the pristine backdrop and he aimed straight for it, ignoring drifts and hollows beneath his cold feet. Details stood out easily to his vision, exceptional even in the starlit darkness that had descended as he'd been procuring dinner.

[hmmmm...the front door is open]

Suspicion deeply rooted in his soul gave him pause, but a moment later he dismissed it as being of no consequence. The snow was unblemished with prints, there was no malevolence lingering in the air. Chuckling at his own paranoia, deserved though it may be, he resumed his trek through the soft whiteness to the dubious shelter of the cabin. He shut the door behind him as he entered, feeling it close with a bit of difficulty. Crouching, he inspected it.

[the wood is warped - no wonder it popped open on its own]

Never noticing the conspicuous silence of the voice in his head, he searched until he found a splintered bit of wood that he jammed between door and floor to prevent the delinquent thing from opening itself again. Barely giving cursory consideration to the damp spots on floor and stairs, and then only to add a leaky ceiling to his mental list of projects to complete as soon as possible, he and his dinner knelt beside the ancient fireplace. A cursory check showed that, whatever the general state of disrepair the cabin was in, the chimney was relatively sound and unblocked.

[now, for a fire]

He turned his full attention to gathering what fuel he could, mostly bits and pieces of old furniture, and a couple handfuls of hay for kindling. A nicely stacked pile of burnable material later, and he found himself perplexed.

[Okay...now, how do I light this?]

(some General YOU are)

The sarcastic, amused voice, breaking into his thoughts once more, brought his attention it its earlier absence.

[Instead of making fun of me, you could actually attempt to be useful - like giving me possibly helpful suggestions.]

A laugh greeted his comment, but he suddenly had the odd, yet undeniable urge to check the mantelpiece. Nothing on top obviously, and his skilled fingers failed to find anything hidden underneath. Running his hands over the dust-covered stonework, he was shocked into total awareness as a tingle in his fingertips alerted him to the presence of a stone that was different from the rest. Looking closely, he noticed a smooth, greenish rock embedded in the structure of the mantelpiece itself.

[Fire materia? Now, I'm not sure if that is incredible cleverness or downright idiocy.]

A cursory exam revealed that it was a young materia, hardly good for generating more than a brief flame. He understood immediately. Focusing on the drier bits of straw, he traced his finger over the smooth stone, channeling a small jolt of power into it. The spark that followed would hardly have melted snow, but it was just enough to catch the hay on fire. He babied the newborn flames as he silently thanked whoever had the foresight to build such a useful fireplace. Within moments he had a cheery fire dancing on the pile of wood and material, and felt confident in turning his full attention to dressing the birds he had caught.

Some little time later, he had three makeshift wooden spits filled with wild pheasants, and the aroma was making his mouth water. Checking one bird, he determined that there was still a bit of time left before they would be done to perfection.

(well, as close as one can get to perfection with the materials on hand)

[I haven't cooked in years. No wonder I'm a little rusty.]

He would have probably gotten more defensive than he did except he was too hungry to truly take offense. Reaching out to sample a bite of the almost-done fowl, he stopped dead at a noise from behind him. The voice had a markedly dry tone when it piped up.

(good thing you caught so many. we seem to have company.)

Turning quickly, he found himself staring in shock at a very startled, sleepy, under-dressed brunette. His voice, so long unused, came out not in the commanding shout he'd intended but in a cracked whisper.

"Lockheart..."

Her eyes opened even wider as she truly took in what she was seeing. Poised between attack and flight, her own voice was as stunned as his had been.

"Sephiroth..."