A Promise Through The Bars: The First Series

by Lemon Leopard

Princess Snow White, a title dead to her, is imprisoned one fateful night. For twelve years, she struggles to survive in her cell, slowly losing her faith, her hope, and finally her will to live. Just as she is about to end it all, a woman named Sara is thrown into the cell near hers. Sara asks Snow White to do her a favor. A favor that may change everything.

15. Chapter 15 Sharing A Drink

Chapter 15 Sharing A Drink

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A bear-sized hand grabs my shoulder, pulling me out of the restful black abyss.

"Time to get up," he says gently. I force my eyes open and meet Eric's gaze, his face high above mine. I manage to nod my heavy head once. He lets go of my shoulder, rises to his full stature, and walks out of my sight, his footsteps receding. I groan and sit up, my throat feeling tight and scratchy. My brows furrow while I massage my fingers into my throat. I can breathe just fine, but my throat feels swollen. I sigh and drop my hand in my lap, frustration prickling under my skin. Great, that's just what I need. Hopefully my sickness doesn't worsen too much beyond an aching throat and an occasional cough.

I look about the room. The four children are still asleep. Oh, how I would love to hug Mary, Stephan, and little Benny and bid them farewell, but they need every moment of sleep they're blessed with. Day ten. Today we leave Jerome and Annabelle's farm and continue onto Hammond's fortress. My shoulders drop beneath the burden of the goodbye that I'll have to say. Even though I have only spent barely more than a day with this family and Eliza and Gwen, I am going to miss playing with Benjamin and holding Gwen and speaking with Eliza. I believe, if given time, Eliza, Annabelle and I would have grown close enough to consider each other sisters.

"The horses are ready," Eric says, pulling my eyes to the open threshold. He stands there dressed in all his brown leathers, his coat fastened about him, his hood drawn over his head, and a thick deer pelt draped over his shoulders. "Com'on, getup."

I frown at him, but I force myself to my feet. I stuff my feet into my boots and pull on my coat as I shuffle over to him, stifling my yawn as I go. Despite getting some rather restful sleep, Eric cut it too short. I look past Eric's arm at the world outside. It's still pitch black and snowing more than before. God, how much more snow can there be!? I pull my gloves out of my belt and put them on.

"Here." He hands me a small burlap sack and takes the pelt off his shoulders. "Ye should eat along the way." He drapes the pelt over my shoulders, swathing me in a layer of wonderful warmth.

"Thank you," I tell him, my voice raspy. I offer him a tired yet earnest smile.

"Yer welcome." He motions for me to follow him and turns. I follow him outside into the frigid world, following in his footsteps. I glance at the snow on either side of my legs. The snow is deeper than my knees! An unsettling pit forms in my stomach. If this snow gets much deeper, will we still be able to travel to Hammond's? Will our tracks be easier to see? Eric trudges through the snow ahead of me, clearing a path for me. Intentional or not? No, it cannot be intentional. Rather, coincidental. It's not as if he can fly to spare himself of the snow.

We draw nearer to two horses tethered to the fence, one horse larger, his legs black as ebony against the white snow, but his body almost disappears into the night. The other horse is smaller but robust, a speckled blue roan with a white face, white legs, and a splash of white beneath his belly. Jerome and a womanly figure stand by the horses tightening the saddles' straps and stowing the final items onto the saddlebags and tethers. That womanly figure must be Eliza judging by her still swollen stomach. How good it is to see her out here.

As we come upon the two horses, the towering ebony turns his head to us and nickers…almost as if to greet us.

"Hey, lass," Eric murmurs and goes to the ebony horse. A mare, I presume. He wraps his arms about the mare's thick neck. She nickers again and drapes her strong head over his shoulder—both of them embracing! I stand here rooted to the earth, transfixed by this sudden display. Clearly, he and this ebony mare share a strong bond—he found his horse yesterday, he said. I wish I had questioned him about it.

"Hey," Eliza says, pulling my gaze back to her as she trudges through the snow to reach me.

I grin at her, feeling unusually warm and loving inside despite the bitter cold. "Eliza, my friend," I say, my voice raspier than before. We embrace tightly. "I'm glad to see that you are up and walking with ease!" I manage to spit out.

Eliza pulls back, but we keep our hands about each other's arms. Her face is mostly hidden in the darkness of night, but my eyes have adjusted enough to see her smile and kind eyes. "Thank you," she says, "but with Annabelle, Mary, you, Eric, and Jerome, it makes sense for me to be up and walking now."

"But you gave birth only two nights ago!"

Eliza laughs and squeezes my arms. "You'll be surprised how quickly you recover once you birth your little one. Our bodies were made to bring forth life."

I nod, my smile shrinking some. "Of course." I release her arms and pull the pelt tighter about me. I would love to find myself bearing the child of the man I might love one day, but will that happen? That man was intended to be William, but now that my path has crossed with Eric's—no, this must be Maacthis making me think this. That man will be, is William.

Eliza's smile lessens, too. "Your voice. You sound sick!"

"Oh!" I wave off her concern. "It's nothing. Do not fret."

Eliza shakes her head. "Should your cold worsen, drink warm fluids and get as much rest as you can. It'll help."

I sigh, but I don't bother to argue with her. She is a healer. She knows the symptoms.

"How's your wound?" Eliza asks me.

"It's healing," I say, my voice croaky as hell. "It hasn't bothered me since I came here."

She nods her approval and grins wider. "That's good to hear. I made a balm from the lamia bone that you gave me. I crushed it and mixed it with aloe." My eyes widen as she continues, "It's in your saddlebag." She goes to the saddlebag hanging down the blue roan's flank, unfastens the flap and rummages through it.

"You…you made a balm from the lamia bone I gave you?" God, such kindness...such selflessness. That was her payment for tending to my wound!

"Yes," Eliza answers kindly, pulling out an old wood box that fits in the palm of her hand. "It's in here. Just spread a little over your wound every other morning. It will reduce inflammation and quicken your healing…and you can brew it in your water. It'll help your throat to heal much quicker." She stores the lamia balm back into the saddlebag—my saddlebag.

"Eliza, I…" What do I say? What...what am I supposed to think!? "…I thank you, but that was your payment!"

Eliza turns to me and smiles kindly. "I don't need a lamia bone for payment. Just heal. Reach Hammond's fortress safely and do what needs to be done."

The heat of anger flares in my chest, but I keep myself restrained. I told her to not hope for an end to Ravenna's tyranny, yet she still persists—a hand lands on my shoulder, startling me. I glance back, my eyes crossing Eric's icy ones.

"Time to go," he says. "Say yer goodbyes."

I frown at him while my eyes start burning with the want to cry, but I hold my tears back. He is so cold and curt with his commands, but that's who he is. He has shown compassion and kindness when it was needed the most. I turn to Eliza and extend my arms to her. "Goodbye, Eliza."

Eliza sniffles and hugs me tightly to her. "Godspeed, my friend."

We pull back and I turn to Annabelle as she comes up to us, offering me one of her arms for a half embrace. I smile and embrace Annabelle while Eliza speaks, "Godspeed to you, Eric. Protect her. Deliver her safely to Hammond's fortress."

My chest burns even more as Annabelle withdraws from me and pushes something into my hand, drawing my eyes down to the wrapped object.

"Aye," Eric replies, somewhat confused.

Whatever this is, it is soft, wrapped in clean linen—"Goat cheese," I say, glancing up at Annabelle. She smiles and nods as she turns me about and gently pushes me towards Eric—like she is putting me under his care as a mother entrusts her child to someone.

Eric wraps his arm about my back and turns me towards the blue roan. "I'll keep her safe," he says, his tone both earnest and soft—too earnest, too soft for me. I try to look back at him, but he grabs my waist and lifts me up onto the blue roan effortlessly!

"Thank you, Eric," I whisper, my heart fluttering and my loins stirring from Eric's strong hands gripping my waist. I manage to turn my head enough to catch his gaze in passing. He nods up at me once and squeezes both sides of my waist, sending a jolt up my spine. He releases me, untethers the blue roan from the fence and hands me the reins. I accept them from him with sad silence and watch him while he mounts his ebony mare, both sides of my waist still tingling from his grip. Even though my thick clothing separated his hands from my flesh, it's as if he touched my bare skin.

"Bye Annabelle, thank ye for everythin'." Eric nods down at Jerome. "Jerome."

Jerome nods up at Eric. "Safe travels, Eric. Godspeed."

"Thank ye," Eric says earnestly, the sound of a faint smile shaping his words. "May my gods watch over yer land."

Jerome shakes his head with a half smile and says, "Get out of here, you heathen!"

Both men laugh and clasp each other's arms in a brotherly farewell. How the men went from such hostility to being like brothers now...either Jerome forgave Eric, or Eric forgave Jerome, or they both forgave each other. And 'my gods'? I...I never took Eric as a religious man. Not just that, but from my youth, I have been taught that the Maker is the one true God. Those who believed in false gods other than the one true God would have been called fools by the Court. If they preached their beliefs to the people, then they were tried and executed as heretics. Then again, my faith in the one true God is shaken at best. At worst, I question if I even believe in him.

Eric and Jerome release each other and Eric returns his hand to his reins.

"Let's go, Ylva," Eric says. He guides his horse left and spurs her into a strong trot. Ylva must be his mare's name. Obedient one, she is. I pack away the goat cheese into one of my saddlebags and swing my leg over my saddle. I slip my foot into the stirrup, adjust my skirts, and pull my reins left while kicking my blue roan's flanks. Instead of getting him to trot, he nickers and ambles slowly through the snow.

"Give 'im two more kicks!" Jerome calls after me. "He's a stubborn ol'arse!"

I kick his flanks two more times, finally spurring the old, stubborn stallion into a trot of some kind. I look back at Jerome, Annabelle, and Eliza as their shadows grow smaller amidst the snow, my heart starting to ache terribly. Already, I miss them all.

"Tell all the children I said goodbye!" I shout back to Annabelle, Jerome, and Eliza no matter how much my throat hurts.

"We will!" Jerome calls back, the wind carrying his promise to my freshly carved heart. He will tell all the children that I said goodbye, even Gwen who is too young to understand and Louis who despises me.

The farther we draw from Jerome and Annabelle's farm, I spot the two trails of our horses' tracks in the snow behind us! "Eric, our tracks!" I look ahead at Eric, my fear and worry almost making me pull back on my horse's reins to stop him, but I fight against it when Eric spurs Ylva into a light, hopping gallop to move faster through the deep snow.

"Dinnae worry!" he calls back to me. I kick my blue roan three times, finally spurring the old boy into a light, hopping gallop to keep up with Eric's nimble ebony. "This snowfall has covered our tracks from Hymark to the farm! It will take Finn sometime to figure out which way we've gone!"

"How long!?" I shout to him despite my sore throat. I keep spurring my senior horse until he finally catches up to Ylva's side.

Eric turns the shadow of his bobbing head to me, his face barely visible in this darkness. "I cannae tell ye that! It all depends on the resources he and his hag sister have! All we can do is keep movin' and pray for fresh snow to cover our tracks!"

I can only nod, his words barely putting me at ease. God above, he's right. All we can do is keep moving and hope this winter is kind enough to hide us from Finn and Ravenna. I've no doubt Ravenna is organizing a search party of the best trackers to hunt me down. I've also no doubt she has set a lofty bounty for my capture as well, so all the bounty hunters out there will be trying to find me as well.

"Eric, we should avoid the towns!" I say over the winds and snorting horses. "I've no doubt the Queen has set a lofty bounty on my head! My face will be inked on posters all over Tabor!"

"Aye, mine as well!" Eric nods. "All towns that we can avoid, we will, but keep yer eyes open! By avoidin' towns, we run the risk of crossin' bandits!"

"Damn it!" I curse, my throat aching more and more from all this shouting. Trackers, bounty hunters, and now bandits!? We may as well have the devil himself hunting us! We have our horses at least, even if my beast is an old, stubborn arse. I glance back. The farm is gone, having been swallowed up in the darkness. With a heavy heart, I look at the four months' journey ahead of us. God above only knows when I will see them again…if I will ever see them again. Despite my lack of faith, I pray that I will.

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The wind grows harsher and pounds on our backs as the day passes over us and starts to wane. On and on we ride our horses through the intensifying snowstorm, neither Eric nor I sparing them the spurs. The air grows colder, stinging my cheeks and lips until I no longer feel them. I wrap my scarf around my nose and mouth to protect them from the cold. God forbid my nose should turn black and fall off like my toes did!

I try to keep my heavy eyes open. I try so hard. There, out in the snowy white distance, a faint towering shadow materializes. It spans the horizon as far as I can see. The closer I draw, the larger, darker, and more defined the shadow becomes. God, that's—that's Hammond's fortress! The closer I draw, I start to see the individual bricks of the towering fortress walls. I spur my exhausted, scrawny horse, both of us starved and worn from the four month long trek. I'm so close!

"LASS!?" Eric's voice comes from somewhere indiscriminate, shattering the sweet vision like glass shards. My eyes spring open and I yank back on my reins, halting my poor stallion. He whinnies loudly and jerks his head against the reins, successfully putting some slack in them. Poor boy. I must have jabbed the bit into his mouth.

"Sorry, old boy," I mouth silently. I pat my horse's neck with an aching heart while I look about, the harsh wind throwing too many snowflakes in my eyes, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut! Damn it, I need to be able to see to find Eric in this storm! I force my eyes open as much as I can, only managing to open them enough to see the swirling, howling white world past my black lashes. I wrap the reins about my gloved hands three times and huddle close to my horse, seeking something to shield me against this brutal storm. I search the blinding white landscape, but all I see is the snow flurrying about me without end. The wind pounds against me everywhere, raging in every direction it can. It whistles and howls its anger like a wounded yet raging wolf seeking to devour my frozen flesh.

Fear stirs in my belly. "Eric!?" I shout with all my strength, but it takes so much to whisper hoarsely, my throat feeling so full and hurting terribly! I clutch at my scarf shielding my throat and try clearing it. I gather up all my strength again and try screaming his name—no sound leaves me! Where did my voice go!? If I cannot call out to Eric, how will he find me in this blizzard!? My heart beats madly. Panic starts to set in. No, I cannot let it take hold of me. I must keep my mind clear! If I cannot think clearly, then I will not be able to think to save my life! God, my throat!—

"DINNAE WANDER OFF!" Eric shouts over the howling, whistling snowstorm, the sound of his voice soothing me. Past my thick lashes, the silhouette of a burly man on a black horse emerges from the white. He reaches out to me and grabs hold of my reins.

"Eric!" I heave his name in silent relief and cling to his coat sleeve, his leather slick with snowflakes that froze to his coat. Despite this, I manage to hold onto him. I care not how desperate nor helpless I seem right now. I am helpless, exhausted, freezing, mute and nearly blind. I need the hunter now more than ever.

"COM'ON, THIS WAY!" He tugs on my reins, guiding my horse right alongside his. Our horses trudge through the deep snow flank beside flank, our spurs clinking together and our horses' bridles jingling amidst this howling, whistling blizzard. How these horses are managing at all in this storm is beyond me. This snow grows any deeper and our horses will sink right through and be buried alive! I look ahead as best I can. In the midst of all this white, tucked within a few thick, faint trees is a solitary structure—an abandoned log cabin made of the surrounding trees. Where are we? Who made the cabin? Does anyone still reside in it? Whatever the case maybe, Eric guides us closer to it. Its roof is partially broken in and its walls are half buried in the white, but it still stands against this blizzard's onslaught. It seems to be the only shelter out of this miserable storm.

Eric steers us around the cabin to where the roof is partially broken in. The piece of roof that broke off leans beside the wall of the cabin, forming a sort of ramp into the place. He stops my horse right beside the ramp and reaches behind me, tugging at my saddle. I want to look back, but I'm too cold, too stiff to turn around. I must trust him. He found me in the blizzard and brought me here to this shelter. He could have easily left my worthless, freezing hide out there in the blizzard and come here by himself. Saved himself all the trouble of having to find me. So, I force myself to close my eyes and hunker over my horse's neck, barely minding the constant tugging he does to my saddle.

"OFF YER HORSE!" Eric says over the howling blizzard, the tugging of my saddle stopping. I keep my eyes closed against this raging storm and only nod, not trying to speak this time. I hug my horse about his thick neck, lift my heavy, stiff leg over his rump, and slide down the saddle. My boots break through the snow and land on the wood ramp, a sudden, painful jolt shooting up my ankles and legs in spasms. I cry out as loud as I can, but it comes out as silence. Atop the pain, the sharp incline points my toes down so much that I must lean upon my horse's flank for support.

"TAKE THIS!" I force my eyes open just enough to see Eric reaching over my saddle, a large rucksack in his gloved grip. I reach up and take the heavy sack from him, filling up my arms with it. This must be our precious supplies. "CLIMB UP THE ROOF, HEAD INSIDE!" he says.

"WHAT ABOUT—" no sound comes out of me.

"GO!" He points over my head. I must do as he says, lest I die. I turn and clamber up the roof, or ramp—whatever this is! My legs burn and ache, but I manage to reach the opening in the roof and peer inside. A pile of snow has gathered in the corner, forming a slope down into the cabin. I care not how Eric found this, nor who lived here, nor what happened to them! This is shelter, salvation for the time being. I carefully maneuver myself at the peak of the small slope and plop down on my rump. The snow beneath me gives way suddenly, my stomach dropping and a silent yelp escaping me as I slide down into the cabin!

I land on my bottom somewhat hard, ending my silent yelp with a huff. The howling lessens. The whistling ends. I tuck the rucksack securely in my lap and scrub the snow from my eyes with the inside of my scarf. I lower my scarf from my eyes and look about. My heart calms. It's a single room cabin, its floor the ash and rock ridden earth, but across the space there's a small hearth made of grey stones. Some of the stones have fallen out of the mortar, but the hearth is in considerably good shape. I grab the strap of the rucksack, stagger to my feet, and drag the heavy bag over to the hearth, feeling as though I am dragging a dead body! When was this hearth used last?

I drop down before the hearth, panting for breath, and glance back at the gaping hole in the roof. Gusts of snowflakes drift down the snow slope that had built up in the corner, the occasional flash of cold air washing over my numb face, but the cabin is deep enough that the snow cannot reach me. My brows furrow, worry growing in me all over again. Where's Eric? He handed me this damn rucksack and ordered me to climb in here. Surely he has not left me in here to soothe his conscience for abandoning me? I watch the slope of snow in the far corner and wait…and wait…the wind howls endlessly outside, piling more snow on more snow. My stomach churns, making me nauseous all of sudden. Eric, where are you!?—THUMP! on the ramp outside, jolting me with fear. THUMP! I almost retreat into the shadow of the hearth, but I force myself to remain where I am. A large pair of leather boots step atop the slope of snow, the path visible where I had slid down it. I squint my eyes in an attempt to see the boots better in the growing darkness, but they trek their way down the slope in three large steps, a hulking black silhouette joining me in this cabin. I glance up at him as he lumbers over to me, the swaying of his long coat, the point at the back of his hood, his deep huffing from exertion—so much like a bear.

"Ye alright?" he asks, his thick accent tickling my ears. My heart picks up despite the sound of his voice soothing me again.

"Eric," I mouth silently, not bothering to strain my sore throat this time.

"Why the silence?" he asks. He crouches down beside me and swings his large rucksack off his back, letting it thud on the ash and rocky earth. "Ye angry with me?" I wish I could see his face, but he is completely hidden in the darkness just like in that dark forest, his silhouette almost indistinguishable in this young night. Were it not for him speaking and moving, I would not see him in this increasing blackness.

Unable to speak, I pull off my gloves and reach for his silhouette. I find his frosty coat sleeve and run my hand down his arm until I find his large gloved hand, the fur of his glove long and coarse, so much like a bear's paw! My heart picks up despite my soothed worries as I take his gloved hand in mine and guide it to my throat. I gather all my strength and force out a single, soft, pathetic cough, the strain causing my sore throat sudden pain. I gasp, my fingers tightening about his hand.

"Yer sick…ye lost yer voice!" He pulls his gloved hand from mine and sighs. "That makes thin's easier," he mutters. I would scold him for such sarcasm, but I am as exasperated as him. First this snowstorm, and now my voice! What else to make this journey more difficult? He shakes his head and pulls another bundle off his back, the sound of something wood clacking together—like the bark from chopped logs.

"Let's get a fire goin' first," he says. Despite the near blackness consuming our sight, we work together arranging the chopped logs in the hearth. He must have chopped some wood before coming in here. That must have been what took him so long to come in, but he came in. He did not abandon me.

He draws his hatchet out from under his coat, sets the blade near the kindling, and scrapes, scrapes, scrapes his flint down the iron, sending out sparks, sparks, and more sparks into the darkness that quickly fade. Where did he store our horses? Surely they will not survive this blizzard outside! I glance back at the hole in the roof. The hole seems large enough for the horses to fit through. Frustration tightens my chest. God, if only I could speak! I would ask Eric what he did with our horses. Then I would ask him what our journey ahead looks like. Then I would ask him if this brutal winter that came so suddenly is normal. Then I would ask him how long our food will last us. Then I would ask him to let us spend a long, restful night here. I would tell him that I desperately need a good night sleep.

Strike! of his flint against his iron. The glowing sparks cling to the darkness. Eric leans towards the sparks and blows gently on them, the sparks brightening and expanding as the kindling crackles. Soon enough, the flames grow, first giving light to Eric's face, and then giving its wonderful heat.

I would huddle closer to the fire, but my eyes fix themselves to Eric. He finishes tending to the fire, sheathes his hatchet beneath his coat, and drags his rucksack to his side. I barely notice him pull off his gloves and rummage through his sack. My chest tightens. My heart beats hard against my sternum. The fire catches in his focused, downcast eyes, making them glow. I find some willpower to look down his face, passing over his nose down to his mouth. I try shifting my eyes down to the earth. I try so hard, but my eyes do not have the strength. His lips, pale and rough with dryness, shift with the movement of his tongue in his closed mouth. I breathe in, inhaling his scent of dewy earth and musky leather and the burning fire. The thought of his warm tongue moving behind his chilled lips, the ice crystals clinging to his beard—that same damning, lustful heat floods my loins. My stomach churns with guilt, making me queasy. I try desperately to close my eyes to find some reprieve, but to no avail. The sight of his mouth swells my womanhood with too much hot blood, causing me to ache and throb. I clench my thighs together, praying for some reprieve. If he were to turn to me now and touch me—his mouth turns fully to me and opens, words about to leave him, but they still on the tip of his tongue.

My eyes dart up to his. He catches my eyes in his like he snatched my arm in that dark forest. His eyes shift back and forth ever so slightly, the fire having melted their iciness into blue waters. The fire crackles and pops, bathing my right side with its warmth. My cheeks and lips tingle as my lifeblood returns to them. Something unseen hooks itself into my heart and pulls me closer to the hunter though I remain almost still. I barely breathe, unable to lift my chest more than a fraction.

He leans back suddenly, closes his mouth and clears his throat. My strength suddenly returns to me, allowing me to fully expand my chest to draw in breath.

"This winter hit so fast," he says. He pulls a sack of goat meat out of his rucksack and unwraps it. He tears off a sizable chunk and offers me the larger piece. I glance down at the goat meat while I massage my swollen throat. The thought of swallowing anything now is nigh unbearable no matter my hunger! I could not bring myself to eat the meat Eric gave me this morning because of my throat! I tentatively reach for his hand, desperate to feel his skin. As lightly as I can and with the back of my hand, I push his hand back towards him and shake my head.

His eyes widen with reprimand. "It disnae matter how much yer throat hurts. Ye need to eat."

I shake my head in protest—the goat cheese! That is soft! That might be more tolerable to swallow. God, I wish I had thanked Annabelle for it earlier. I hold my second finger up to Eric, earning his confusion, but I scramble over to the rucksack I dragged in and dig through it. There's the saddlebag I had stored it in! I open up the saddlebag and reach inside, finding the squishy linen with my fingers. I pull out the goat cheese and return to sit beside Eric. I pull apart the linen and show him the cheese.

"Ah," he grumbles. "So long as ye eat somethin' so ye dinnae pass out again. Ye need to keep up yer strength." He wraps up the goat meat and stows it in his rucksack.

Those words are enough for me. Eric may have the strength of a bear. He may be able to fight half drunk without suffering a scratch. He may be able to bring down the most dangerous creatures single handedly, but he only has two arms and limited space upon his strong back. He has his weapons, his packs, his rucksack, and I've my rucksack—all that would fill up his back, his shoulders, and his arms. If it weren't for this snowstorm, I would still refuse the meat, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Eric sent our horses off for their sakes and ours. I could feel my stallion sinking chest deep into the snow with each step he took. I must eat so that I have the strength to walk through the snow.

I pull a morsel from the goat cheese and put it in my mouth, the cheese chilling my tongue and stinging my sensitive teeth.

"Good," Eric says, sounding relieved. He tears a bite from his chunk of meat and puts it in his mouth, chewing it. I squish the goat cheese against the roof of my mouth with my tongue. Perhaps I can soften it more before I have to swallow it? God, I don't want to swallow, but I must eat. I tighten my stomach and force the cheese down my swollen throat. The cheese forces its way down my throat, rubbing painfully against the tender inside despite its softness, but it successfully passes down into my gullet. I wince, but the sudden rubbing pain fades to the dull, constant ache.

"Our horses will do us nae good in all this snow," he grumbles, pulling my eyes up to his. Just hearing him say snow sends a chill down my spine. He tears a bite from the chunk of goat meat with his teeth, chews a few times and swallows with ease, seemingly unaware of my fear. "We'll have to go by foot in the morn."

I frown at him and nod, not eager to put the next piece of cheese into my mouth. If only I could tell him that I suspected as much, but that only leaves so much more unsaid, so many questions unanswered.

"What about Finn!?" I mouth silently, worry stirring my stomach all over again.

His brows furrow. "What?"

I sigh, already exasperated. Sure, I wished for a weak voice last evening, but not this! "Finn!?" I mouth slowly, drawing his eyes down to my mouth. "Finn!?" I mouth again.

His eyes light up. "Finn!" He nods and lifts his gaze to me. "Dinnae spare him a thought! The snow has covered our tracks from Hymark to Jerome and Annabelle's farm and from their farm to here. Tabor hasnae seen a winter like this for years. It's brutal as hell, but a boon to us. A royal, pampered arse like Finn disnae know the first thin' about traversing snow like this."

I can't help but snort at his words.

He chuckles, lightening the air between us. "But I do." He sits up straighter, bolder, more confident than his usual self. I tilt my head and regard him carefully. How so?

"How so, ye wonder?" he asks, his tone deeper and quieter. Either I wear my thoughts on my face, or he now knows me well enough to know that I would question his claims. "I'm no' from here, if ye could tell." I roll my eyes at him, earning his hearty chuckle. His head of fair hair would stand out amidst the sea of Taboran ebony.

His chuckling and grin ebbs. "I'm from the north where there's a lot of mountains. The air there is thin and the winter has no end. My…" the last of his grin wanes. His eyes slowly drift from mine to look into the fire, something...sad stirring in them. My brows furrow. What caused this sudden change in him? He clears his throat and continues, "The people there have had centuries to invent and perfect ways to travel through the snow so we could move about and hunt…" he shrugs his broad shoulders "…survive." He looks at me again and forces a half hearted smile, failing to make it reach his eyes. That sadness, or whatever it is, is still in them. "Have ye e'er seen a man ski?" he asks.

Ski? My brows furrow more and I shake my head. There is so much mystery to him. It seems the more he explains, the more mystery that enshrouds him.

He smirks at me. "This snow is much like the snow back home." He hands me his chunk of meat suddenly, gets to his feet, and walks past me to the wall of the cabin. "It's heavy, packed tightly together. Perfect for skiin'." He reaches into his coat and pulls out one of his twin hatchets. He swings his hatchet into the wall, jolting me with its loud crack! He pulls his blade out of the wood and hacks at the same log again, chopping away at the wall! What is he doing!? I set his goat meat on the clean linen with my cheese and spring to my feet. I go to the side he is not hacking away on. He stops swinging his hatchet despite me being on his left side and looks down at me, his eyes widening as he grins. "Ye must think I'm off my head choppin' the wall like this!"

I throw my arms out and nod fiercely. Of course I think he's lost his mind!

He laughs and drops his free hand on my shoulder. "I've no' just lost my head," he says with a shrinking smile, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. "Yer welcome to watch me craft us some skis, but it'll take half the night at least. Rest." He turns me around and pushes me gently towards the hearth. "Eat. Keep the fire goin' if ye can. I need the light."

I shuffle over to the hearth and drop before it. I nibble slowly on my cheese while I tend to the fire, sparingly feeding the flames with the logs Eric had gathered. I turn halfway on my rump to both watch Eric and keep an eye on the fire. The snowstorm continues raging outside all the while Eric hacks at the wall, splintering and cracking the wood. I watch with great intrigue while he cuts away four long pieces of wood from the cabin wall and sets three pieces aside. Four pieces of wood—two for him and two for me. Must be, but how will they attach to our feet? Will I have to take off my boots just to put on these 'skis'?

He sits down on the ground and rests one piece of wood across his knees. He sets aside his hatchet and draws one of his knives from its sheath. My eyes widen. His knife! I left his knife at Jerome's farm! I did not take it with me after I used it to chop off all my hair in my…fit. I sigh. It's not as if we can go back and get it. I just pray Annabelle or Jerome pick it up before Ben happens upon it, or Eliza notices it and scoops it up before anyone hurts themselves.

I push the worry from my mind and try to watch Eric. It's too easy a feat. I become entranced with the man—his focused eyes, his skillful hands wielding his knife to smooth down the long, thin board of wood. He's done this before. Many times before. His eyes are so focused upon his work, yet the wrinkles etched into his forehead are almost gone. The corners of his lips are curled down, not with a frown, but with rest. That is the look of a man at peace. God, he looks to have lived ten years less than he has surely lived. My heart beats harder, pushing hot blood into my loins. If I could speak, I would ask him if he feels at home in the snow.

My hand goes to my chest, searching for Sara's ring out of habit. I catch my hand in the act and stop myself, dropping my hand in my lap instead. Deep in my freshly carved heart is a hole—a wound—that longs to be sewn back together. Sara's ring had filled that hole in my heart, but it is no longer about my neck. It's time about my neck has long since passed. Sara was wise far beyond her years. She knew Eric would need it. I see the change in him. He laughs more. He smiles more. He's more…alive. Though that strange look that overtook him when he was speaking of his—or the people in the north. There's no getting around the fact that he once considered those people his people, but no longer. I wonder why...God, perhaps it's not my right to know.

Darkness soon comes for me, granting me some rest.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"How could you leave me!?" I ask the weasel. The white weasel bears his teeth and hisses at me, the fur on his back bristling. His body starts twisting and shrinking. The white fur of his tail falls out until it is long and thin, revealing its pink skin. His graceful paws turn into hideous talons. His big dark eyes turn into beady red ones. His snout narrows and scrunches up. My teary eyes widen. This creature is no longer the beautiful white weasel that was one of my dearest friends, but now he is this hideous, disease ridden rat. The rat hisses again, turns his back to me, and scampers off around the corner, disappearing from my sight. I…I am completely alone in my imprisonment now. A terrible sting enters my heart—the sting of betrayal.

My eyes fly open, the log beams of the cabin roof high above me. I clutch at my racing heart with one hand, my fingernails clawing into my deer pelt draped over my torso. I turn my attention to my fast breathing. I inhale slowly and deeply through my mouth and exhale slowly through my nose, my breath coming out as writhing white smoke. Inhale slowly through my mouth, filling up my lungs to their capacity. Exhale slowly, every last bit of air, out through my nose as a steady stream of white smoke.

My heart starts to calm and the fire in my lungs fades. I drag my frozen hand down to my belly and rest it there, barely able to feel the fur of this deer pelt. I don't remember lying down, nor do I recall covering myself with this deer pelt. The gold glow of the flames flicker across the ceiling, pushing back against the darkness of night. They crackle and pop. The world outside this broken down cabin howls faintly compared to the raging winds before. Everything has calmed down, but it is still dreadfully frigid. I sigh with some relief and roll my head along the dying, frozen earth—he sits against the opposite wall that he had chopped at, one of his long legs stretched out before him and his other knee raised close to his chest. One arm is propped on his raised knee and his other hand rests in his lap, his fist clenching and unclenching, clenching and unclenching. My eyes travel up the man, his coat and vest hanging open. The drawstrings to the collar of his shirt hang out beneath the flap of his leather hood. My eyes finally go up to his face and stop there. His eyes are closed tight with sleep, the lines in his forehead and about his eyes deeper than usual. His short, fast breaths come out of his flared nostrils as puffs of white smoke.

My heart aches for him and begs me to go to his side, but he once asked me in that dark forest if the nightmares of my past haunt me. I curled up to repel him and did not answer him. I only did so then because I did not trust him. I trust him now, but does he trust me? If I crawl to his side now and wake him, would he be upset with me for disturbing him? There have been times I wished for someone to wake me from my nightmares, but for fourteen years that person never came along. That is until now. Here he is now enduring some distressing dream, whether it be a nightmare of his past or a nightmare of his deepest fears yet to come true.

I swallow hard and steel my nerves. He may grow angry with me, but he has yet to hurt me with his anger. I would rather wake him so that he can fall asleep again and have the chance to find some true rest than to let him go on in distress and wake up exhausted. I sit up and crawl as quietly as I can to him, losing my deer pelt along the way. My painfully swollen throat reminds me that I am voiceless. Though I cannot speak, I can still touch him. I reach his side and sit back on my heels. I start lifting my frozen, numb hand towards his arm, but I stop. My heart picks up and pumps warm blood down my body. I start burning all over. I've never felt the skin of his cheek before. I can only imagine his cheek is chilly. How I wish I could put my frozen hand to his frozen cheek and create some warmth for feeling to return to us both—his eyes open and shift down to me. My heart skips a beat.

"Ye should be sleepin'," he says, his voice husky from just having woken up. I frown at him and quickly withdraw my hand from him. I wish I had my voice! I would explain myself to him. All I can do is try to communicate with him using other means. I gesture back to the spot where I had lain, the ash and rock there far more disturbed than the surrounding ground. The evidence of my poor sleep is right there. I look back at Eric, praying that he'll understand.

His eyes dart back to me and his brows furrow. "I thought ye liked sleepin' close to the fire," he says.

I grit my teeth and rap my head with my fingertips, a muffled tap, tap, tap against my skull. It's our minds that create our nightmares.

His brows furrow deeper, deepening his wrinkles. "Yer head hurts?"

I sigh and shake my head, frustration swelling in my chest. "Nightmare?" I mouth silently and gesture to him.

His eyes jump down to my hand and up to my mouth. "Say that again."

I swallow some spit down my throat and mouth silently, "Night," taking extra care to pronounce the sharp hiss of the 't', "mare?" I gesture to him again.

His brows relax, but his eyes linger on my mouth, causing my heart to flutter but not stop beating. "Ah. Nightmare." He finally lifts his eyes to mine, the firelight catching in them and ensnaring me. "So I had a bad dream." He shrugs his shoulders. "We all do. What does it matter?"

I frown at him and drop my hand in my lap. It matters a great deal. Nightmares torture us and either keep waking us up or they imprison us in our sleep. Nightmares keep us from finding the true rest that will aid us in reaching Hammond's fortress alive and well. All this I would tell him if I could, but I wished my voice away, it seems. I would tell him to wake me every time he sees me having a restless sleep, but I cannot now. Another time, I pray, but I can help him find sleep again as he once helped me in that dark forest.

I spring to my feet and tread back to the hearth where our rucksacks and packs are. I kneel before his rucksack and rummage through it, everything packed away smartly so as to allow the most supplies in his sack. I cringe suddenly and stop. How intrusive I am being rummaging through his possessions like this! I wait with unmoving hands for him to say something…he remains silent. Surely if he was displeased with this, he would stop me.

I dig through his rucksack, trying my best to not disrupt the order of his possessions—perhaps all his earthly possessions—until I find one of his skins. I pull it out of his rucksack and pull out the cork with a deep pop. I lift the skin to my nose and sniff the liquid inside, the liquid heavy and sloshing about. This skin reeks of ale, but how tempting it is! Unable to resist, I take a long, selfish swig, enjoying the cooling, numbing effect the ale has on my throat.

"Gods, it may've been better if we ne'er met!" Eric says with a light chuckle as I finish my swig of ale. I lower his skin from my lips and glance back at him, seeing his depressing amusement. I shake my head at him. No, it is better that our paths crossed. Far better. I start back to him, snatching up my deer pelt as I rejoin his side. I don't recall lying down and draping this deer pelt over me. The only one who could have done so would have been Eric. My heart softens for him.

Eric grins bigger, takes his skin of ale from my willing hand, and takes a long, selfish swig himself. I kneel closer beside him than before, feeling the warmth coming from his body more than any fire has ever given me. How tempting it is to push his coat and vest aside so that I can curl up against him, but would he push me away? I don't have the nerve to make such a bold move, yet it is so cold in here! My face and hands sting from the cold and my lips are completely numb. Not just that, but I wonder if he could keep my nightmares away like that mysterious force pushed away Maacthis' evil. That mysterious force that came about when Eric looked at me and smiled..

He finishes his drink of ale and passes it back to me. I smile at him, fondly recalling the moment we shared his ale in that dark forest. I drink from his ale slowly, waiting for the drink to loosen my nerves enough to touch him. He chuckles as I pass his ale back to him. Something sweet hums in the air. I laugh silently with him. We go back and forth a few more times, quickly losing count.

My nerves loosen enough. More natural than planned, I pass him back his ale and pull his left arm off his knee. His eyes widen with surprise and his smile wanes some, but he does not stop me as I pull his coat back and push myself against his side. His warmth bathes my frozen flesh almost immediately. I press the side of my face against his ribs and look at his raised knee. It's only in the way. I brace my frozen hand against his knee and push it. He stretches his leg out willingly, the back of his boot grinding against the small rocks and ash of the frozen earth.

His warmth brings forth a rush of pin prickling heat, slowly returning feeling to the right side of my face. The rush of warmth and his ale mix together, loosening my reservations more. I drag my hand along the top of his thigh up to the waist of his trousers, barley able to feel the hardness of his thigh muscle beneath my numb hand. I spread my hand against his firm stomach and savor his warmth as it brings back feeling to my hand in that wave of pin prickling heat. Eric wraps his coat about me and drapes his heavy arm over my shoulders, swathing me in his safety and warmth.

He clears his throat above me. "Ye dinnae finish yer cheese."

I sigh in exasperation. Damn, I thought I had gotten away with not eating all of it.

"Ye must fill yer belly with more than ale if yer to reach Hammond's fortress alive and well." Regardless of his words, he lifts his skin of ale to my lips. I reluctantly withdraw my hand from his stomach, take his skin from him, and down another swig. "We'll eat in the morn before we head out."

I almost throw down his skin in frustration, but I nod meekly and pass his skin back to him with no smile this time. There's no point in trying to resist him. He is only telling me this for my own good. I must do this to ease my burden on him. I'll do most anything to ease the burden of myself on him. I grab my deer pelt and cover both of us with it, further trapping our shared warmth beneath the thick layer. I breathe in and out calmly and evenly, the white smoke of my breath swirling up to mix with his. I focus on the steady rise and fall of his ribs against me. My eyes grow heavier with each breath he takes.

God, how things have changed between us since he found me in that dark forest. To think that only ten, maybe eleven days ago, he was ready to leave me behind to that merciless forest, but now he has extended his protective arm about me and vowed to deliver me to Hammond's fortress alive and well. He has fed me, clothed me, gave me water and ale to drink in my thirst, and protected me against those who sought to harm me. Have I thanked him for carrying me all the way from that bridge to Hymark? I have spoken of the fact that he did carry me all the way from that godforsaken bridge to Hymark, but did I ever say the words 'thank you'? I don't recall. As soon as I regain a fraction of my voice, those will be the first two words I say to him.