Chapter 16 This Merciless Winter
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"First light, lass," he says from somewhere in this restful, warm darkness, rubbing my arm. I crawl out of the sweet abyss and force my eyes open to a dim world. "Time to get up."
Eric grabs my arms and parts me from his warmth. I groan in protest, but it comes out as silence, leaving me with an aching throat. The world outside is still dim, but it will brighten. Day eleven, it must be.
"Ye should eat," he says. He releases my arms and rises to his feet, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable. I tilt my chin all the way back to keep him in my sight. I watch him as he goes to our packs and digs through the rucksack he handed me yesterday to drag into this cabin.
He pulls out the cheese wrapped in linent he had pulled out last evening and comes back to me, offering me the cheese. "Here."
I frown at him, but I accept the sack from him and open it up. No matter how much I don't want to, I must eat this so that I do not grow too weak nor pass out. I cannot force Eric to carry me again. If he had to, he would leave some of our precious supplies behind just to save my worthless skin. Despite my pain, I scarf down the rest of the cheese as quickly as I can. While I eat, Eric goes to his packs and pulls out an iron bowl. I follow him with my eyes as he goes to the large snow pile that had built up in the corner. He stoops towards the snow and scoops the cleanest snow into the bowl with his bare fingers. I would ask him what is he doing, but with a mouth full of goat cheese and a throat so swollen that I cannot speak, all I can do is watch him.
He comes to me, his eyes on me. "I found the lamia balm in yer pack. Eliza made it for ye?"
I smile at the mention of her name and nod.
He smiles, too. "Kind of her." Not just kind, but utterly selfless. He goes to the hearth and crouches before it. He holds the iron bowl near the flames, letting the fire's heat slowly melt the snow. "If ye drink some of that balm for the next few days, ye'll get yer voice back quicker."
My eyes widen. He's melting the snow…for me. My heart fills up with gratitude and softens towards him. Perhaps too much. God, I'd get up and embrace him now, but with how I dug through his rucksack last night without protest from him, how he wrapped his arm about me and shared his warmth with me, how we have shared his ale, my spit mixing with his and his with mine—my heart beats faster. Just eleven days ago, we were strangers at best, if not enemies! How quickly that has changed.
Eric moves suddenly, shattering my thoughts. He grabs the small box of lamia balm out of the rucksack he handed me last evening, takes off the lid, and scoops some of the balm onto his fingertips. The rose-tinted balm glistens on his two fingertips, looking like cream or softened butter. Oh, I was supposed to apply the lamia balm to my back wound, but how can I do that without being able to see it? I scramble to my feet and go to him, watching while he dips his two fingers into the water and swirls them about. The balm melts off his fingers and fades into the water without a trace.
"Here," Eric says, holding the bowl up to me.
My heart softens even more for him while a smile crosses my mouth. I accept the bowl from him and mouth very slowly, "Thank you."
His eyes dart down to my lips, a smirk sneaking onto his face. "Say that again."
My smile lessens. He knows what I said. He just wants me to say it again…for some odd reason. To stroke his ego? Oh, like it matters! This man deserves more than all the thanks I could ever hope to give him. I mouth silently again, "Thank you."
His smirk grows to a small grin and he nods. "Yer welcome." His eyes dart up to mine, down to the iron bowl, and back up to mine. "Drink." He gestures to the warm, clear water in the iron bowl. I sink to my knees and drink slowly from the bowl, the water warm and dry, yet something in it tastes oily. It's not bad. It's like a vinegar meant to flavor bread or green leaves. This oily taste must be the lamia balm.
I down the rest of the water and watch Eric rummage through his rucksack. He pulls out a pair of black leather trousers—his trousers. "Put these on. Cut yer dresses short." He hands me his trousers and takes the bowl from me. He draws one of the dozen knives from his sheath and offers it to me by the hilt. My eyes widen, but I take it from him. He's giving me another knife?
He catches the shock on my face and raises his brows at me. "What!? Ye cannae ski in dresses that long!" He gestures to my skirts and turns his attention to packing our belongings. Part of me loathes that I have to destroy Annabelle's dresses for the sake of mobility, but what choice do I have? I go to get up, but Eric's reprimanding words halt me. "Dinnae lose yer knife this time. Keep it on yer person always."
I look back at him and frown, but he does not spare me a glance. So either he had the knife I had forgotten on the bedroom floor this whole time, or he knew I had lost his last one, but still he gave me a new one. He's…right to reprimand me for my carelessness. And my knife? I grab the box of lamia balm and get to my feet. Yet another possession of his that he has given me.
I go to the far corner of the cabin for some privacy, though little privacy it is for as soon as he turns around he will see me. As for the lamia balm, I'll just have to feel about for my wound and apply the balm as best as I can.
I take off my belt, hike up my skirts, and pull on Eric's oversized trousers all the way up to my ribs. God, he's fatter and taller than he looks! The bottoms of his trousers go far past my ankles! I'll have to take off my boots and stuff the trousers into my boots. That shouldn't be too difficult considering how bony my legs are.
I lace up his trousers as tight as they'll go about my waist with still generous room to breathe and drop my skirts to my ankles. It's a difficult task of finding the sutures of my back wound, but I eventually feel the ridges of the sutures beneath my many clothes. I scoop a small amount of the lamia balm onto my fingers, sneak my fingers back under my dresses, and gingerly smear the balm onto my wound. I wince from each little sting that shoots through my back, but I finish. I pick up my belt and fasten it about my dresses and his trousers, further securing his trousers to my body. The last thing I need is for them to fall down my legs. I would laugh at the thought were we not fleeing from Ravenna. I sit down on my rump, pull off my boots one at a time, and stuff his trousers into my boots as I push my right foot into its proper boot, and then my left foot into its boot. I push myself to my feet, take up my knife, and set the blade against Annabelle's skirts. How I do not want to ruin such perfect dresses no matter how many patches and stitches they have. I'm not even sure where to start cutting—Eric comes up to me and takes my knife from me without my resistance. Heat floods my cheeks. I'm moving too slow for him! No doubt teaching me how to ski is going to take considerable time, too, and God only knows how close Finn is.
He crouches before me, pulls Annabelle's skirts taut, and slices through the fabric just above my knees. The skirts tear loudly as he does a sloppy job of cutting Annabelle's skirts down to size. "There," he says as he rises to his daunting stature and offers me my knife by the hilt. I accept my knife from him and nod my thanks.
"Put that knife in yer belt." I do as he says, my layers thick enough to keep the blade from slicing my skin. He stuffs the shredded rags of Annabelle's skirts into his rucksack, scoops up my gloves off the ground, and hands them to me. I stuff them into my belt as well.
"Here, take these." He hands me the straps of a satchel and a small pack. I lift the straps over my head and arm and lay them across my chest, resting the packs on my left hip. He turns and gathers the skis he had carved off the ground. My eyes are drawn to the four skis and two—spears!? I focus on their primitively sharpened points as Eric climbs up the snow pile. Why would he carve two spears!? Does he not have enough weapons as is!?
He reaches the top of the snow pile, turns to me, and sets the skis and the two spears down. "Com'on, lass!" He extends his bear-sized hand down the snow pile. "Time I teach ye to ski."
My eyes widen and my stomach knots. Despite my nerves, I tighten my scarf about my head and throat and pat my waist to check for my gloves. Finding them tucked safely in my belt, I grab his bare hand, my eyes caught in his. The unseen, silent lightning doesn't strike me this time, but tingling warmth washes over all my nerves. He helps me up to the top of the snow pile, bringing me close enough to him that my smoky exhales mix with his. He keeps my hand in his chilled one a bit longer than necessary. Perhaps he's hoping to create some warmth in this bitter cold? My heart beats harder, begging me to be closer to him than I already am. If he or I took a small step closer, our fronts would be flush together.
Eric clears his throat and pulls his hand from mine, shattering the air between us like glass.
"I'll show ye how to strap on yer skis. Take this." He picks up one of the primitive spears off the ground and offers it to me, keeping its sharpened point towards the snow.
My stomach knots. Sure, he has enough sense to not thrust the sharpened point towards my face, but why is he giving me this spear!? I don't reach for the spear and look up at him.
His eyes dart down to the spear and back up to me, an amused look cracking his stern face. "Dinnae be afraid. This may look like a crude spear, and it can be used as such, aye." He lifts up the sharpened end in his other hand for emphasis and tilts it back down to the snow. "But for now, just see it as a long stick to help ye keep yer feet." My brows start furrowing—to help me keep my balance, he means.
His amusement fades, his sternness returning. "Go on, take it," he says, strict yet gentle. "Ye'll be fine so long as ye do what I say."
I frown at him. I fear that I may skewer myself because of my damn clumsiness…but I trust him. If he trusts me enough to handle this spea—long stick, then perhaps I can handle it without skewering myself or stabbing my foot. I swallow hard, steel my nerves, and accept the long stick from him with both hands. My eyes widen. The wood is so smooth! Was not this just carved last night from the rough wood of the cabin? How did he manage to smooth it down without a wax or a resin to coat the wood with? I look up at him with wide eyes.
His brows furrow at me while he crouches before me and grabs one of the smaller skis. "What's wrong?"
I close my hanging jaw and shake my head. I would tell him that I am amazed by his craftsmanship, but without my voice, all I can do is rub my hand back and forth along the stick and smile. "No splinters," I mouth slowly.
His eyes drop down to my mouth and linger, causing my heart to flutter. "Nae splinters, aye." He glances up at me and grins smugly. "Because I made it."
We both laugh, his aloud and mine silent, but we laugh together. A man should not have such pride, but his pride...it's endearing. That same sense of fun arises in my stomach, easing my fear of this long stick for now. Egged on by the fun between us, I tap his knee with the stick. His eyes dart down to his knee and back up to me, his smile growing. No words need be said. I am enjoying his company...and he mine.
He looks down at my feet and places the smaller ski flat on the packed snow beside my left foot. "Lift yer foot."
This long stick is to help me keep my feet, so I use this stick for balance? I glance down at my boots partially breaking through the snow. If I must lift my left foot, I'll be leaning right, so I need this stick on my right side. I move the sharpened end of the stick high over my feet to my right side, doing my best to ignore my churning stomach and the fear that I might stab my foot, or both of them! If that's possible. I stab the sharpened end of the stick into the snow and raise my left foot enough for him to slide the ski under it. I wonder if he purposefully started with my left foot, seeing that my lead foot is my left?
He slides the ski under my foot, grabs my ankle, and brings my foot down on the ski. A shock shoots through my body, ripping through my already buzzing nerves. Carnal thoughts charge into my mind like an attacking army breaching the walls of what little innocence I still have. My eyes go to his lips, longing for them against my skin, against my naked inner thigh— "Ye strap yer foot to yer ski like this." He ties the leather straps about my foot and pulls taut, securing my foot to the ski. My stomach knots up all over again while he grabs the second ski and sets it near my right foot. I feel…trapped on this ski. I don't like this ski, and I doubt I'll like its mate.
"Now ye try." He rises to his overwhelming stature and draws close to me, his warmth so strong that I start leaning into him, but I catch myself. I was drunk enough last night to push myself against him, but now that I am completely sober, my hesitation and nerves have returned.
"Move yer stick to yer other side." I pull my stick out of the ground, move it over my feet, and pierce the snow on the outside of my left ski. "Now, put yer foot on yer ski." I lift my right foot and line it up as perfectly as I can with the straps. "Put yer foot on yer ski," he says, his voice gruffer, his words quicker. I carefully set my foot on my ski.
"Now crouch low and tie yer straps like I showed ye." I glance up at him, hesitant for that when I do, my ski might slip out from under me. He raises his brows at me out of impatience. "Must I remind ye? We dinnae have all the time in the world!"
Finn, he means. There is some distance between us and Finn, but I cannot spend all this precious time fearful and hesitant! That will give Finn plenty of opportunity to find us. More than anything, I cannot break my promise to Greta…nor can I bare the thought that Eric could die defending me.
Eric frowns at me. Something softens his eyes. Guilt for being so curt? "We made a deal. Remember?" he asks. My frown grows heavier. Of course I remember. I'm not stupid. He grabs my shoulder and squeezes me reassuringly. "I am to get ye to Hammond's fortress alive and well in exchange for fifty gold pieces. Ye've my word."
My frown lightens some. He has changed our deal twice now. For the better.
He sighs, faint white smoke billowing out of his warm mouth. "I'll do whatever it takes to get ye to Hammond's, but I need ye to help me by helpin' yerself." He takes his hand from my shoulder. "Ye understand?"
I nod slowly. I understand all too well. Despite my stomach churning with fear, I force myself to crouch low before him. He keeps his stern, watchful eyes on me, his gaze burning into me. I suck in a desperate, chilled breath and look down at my ski. I release my pole, leaving it standing up in the snow, and take up the straps, attempting to tie them as he did.
"Nae"—he stops me—"lift that strap over." I do as he says and tie the straps tight, securing my foot to the ski. I glance up at him, seeking some approval. My eyes become ensnared in his foreign icy ones, looking so at home in this wintery world.
"Rise," he says. I grab my long stick and rise to my feet, trying with all my might to focus on the learning ahead of me instead of his icy eyes.
He pushes me onward as he instructs me in his own cold, curt, stern way. The very first thing he teaches me is how to untangle my skis and get back up, as the first thing I do is fall immediately. I move forward a few feet, move my skis too close together, entangle them, and fall again. I push myself up again with his stern instruction. I get up, move forward for no more than a moment, get my skis entangled, and fall again.
"Remain calm. Untangle yer skis. Get yer feet under ye. Use yer stick to get back up."
I huff out of frustration and do as he says despite my body already aching all over from exerting muscles I've never used and from landing on the hard, packed snow repeatedly.
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Steadily, our progress across the snow laden land quickens as I learn how to balance and gain comfort moving with my skis, but it does nothing to ease my growing fear that Finn and his search party are using their own skis to catch us.
"Keep yer feet easy in yer shins," he says. My brows furrow and I nearly turn to him to ask him what he is talking about—ah yes, feet means balance to him. So, I keep my feet easy in my shins. My falls lessen in frequency and severity.
He teaches me how to stop and how to turn in his cold, curt, stern way. Turning is the opposite of what I think. To turn left, it is not my left foot I lean into, but my right. To turn right, it is not my right foot I lean into, but my left.
He leads the way, moving about on his hand carved skis like a ghost over the snow. He threads himself through the ever thickening trees like a weaver threads a beautiful tapestry. He is one with the snow. His icy eyes, his fair hair, his mastery of this terrain that would see anyone else trapped where they are until spring comes to free them. But surely Ravenna has her own resources. She found Eric. Surely she would find more men as skilled and experienced as Eric to traverse the snow. God only knows if Finn already found at least one willing and knowledgeable soul to guide him through the dark forest, and then found more after coming out of the dark forest onto the other side.
I guide the front ends of my skis inward without entangling them, slowing myself down enough to glance behind me without running into anything. There are my and Eric's ski tracks marring the smooth snow! My heart quickens and I look ahead, spurred onward by the real possibility that Finn and his search party of highly skilled, snow-experienced men are closing the distance.
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The winter grows fierce with us again. She throws an endless barrage of snow and wind at our backs by the time night nears us. No matter how many times I try to pull my scarf back over my ears, her ghostly fingers tear my scarf back enough so she can scream her endless, angry howl into them. She threatens me, promising that with the night comes all the terrible predators that roam these woods. If she cannot kill me with her terrible winter, then it will be some wild animal driven mad with hunger. I lean a bit more into my shins and use the slight downhill of the terrain to go faster, following Eric's darkening form as he weaves through the tall, crooked shadows of trees of whatever woods these are. My ears pick up the distant grunting and snorting of a charging bear that must have seen us swooping by! My already racing heart pounds against my sternum. My breathing quickens.
"ERIC!" I try calling out to him, but my warning comes out as silence. I would look back, but the instant I do, I will collide into some tree. If the impact doesn't kill me, surely it would break all my brittle bones and allow the bear the easiest meal of his life!
"SLOW DOWN, LASS!" Eric calls over the howling wind, the winter nearly consuming his voice. Why does he seem so unperturbed by the charging bear!? Perhaps…perhaps it is my imagination, but I swear I can also hear the wolves howling and their claws scraping along the snow as they chase us. I can also hear that tiktiktiktiktik of an oulinder just on the other side of the large tree that I whoosh by. I see the flashes of scarlet marring the night and the glowing yellow eyes of the night cats prowling up in the tree limbs ready to pounce on me.
God, how can all these threats at the same time be possible!? Perhaps it is just my mind running away with me.
Eric slows down, his shadow fast approaching me—or more like I fast approaching him! I quickly angle the front ends of my skis inwards without entangling them and ease my weight into my left shin, both slowing myself down and steadily veering myself to the right clear of him. I pass him up and slow to a stop not too far from him.
"COM'ERE!" Eric shouts as he comes to me and grabs my gloved hand. "WALK WITH ME!" Together, we walk sideways with our skis, the cold wind beating at our backs. He leads us to the shadow of a towering tree with a trunk thick enough to provide us some shelter.
"THIS DAMN WINTER!" he curses as we both hunker down behind the tree out of the direct blast of the blizzard, but the wind is still frigid and fierce as it wraps itself around the tree to continue tormenting us! I drop down onto my right hip on the hard snow, yank off my glove, and reach as far as I can down my legs for the leather straps shackling my feet to my skis. I twist and scrunch my body at my left hip and drag my feet close to me, bumping my bottom with the backs of my skis. I manage to find my icy boots in this darkness. My fingers quickly grow so numb and cold that I almost cannot distinguish the icy leather straps of my skis from the icy leather of my boots, but somehow I manage to free my left foot from my ski.
Eric suddenly comes over me! My heart skips a beat, but it quickly calms when he frees my right foot from my ski.
"DAMN WINTER!" Eric shouts over the howling wind as we gather our skis and poles and press our backs against the tree. "GODS, I'VE NE'ER SEEN ANYTHIN' LIKE THIS!"
I go to huddle against him for warmth, but he gets up suddenly and sets up all his packs about me, further shielding me from this terrible blizzard.
"STAY'ERE!" he says. "DINNAE FALL ASLEEP! I WILL BE BACK!"
Panic rushes through me as he turns and trudges from me, lifting his arm to his eyes to shield himself against the raging blizzard!
"ERIC!" His name leaves me as silence, though it still causes me terrible pain in my throat. I cry out silently and almost spring to my feet to go after him, but I stop myself. In that dark forest he told me to stay still and silent. When I did not listen to him, that oulinder tried to kill me! Eric dragged me to this tree, freed me from my ski, and set up his packs about me to provide me with the most shelter possible. Why I should not let myself fall asleep, I wish I knew, but it is Eric who is experienced with this type of weather. Not me. It is best that I listen to him.
I watch him with gnawing hunger and fear as his shadow grows smaller and smaller until he disappears in the raging, howling rush of the blizzard. I draw my deer pelt over my head and try to ignore the fear threatening to consume me whole.
Horrible visions flood my sight—a starving bear sniffing the top of my head, huffing and snorting as he debates whether he should eat me or not. Wolves howling in the night despite the howling blizzard and the moon being hidden for fourteen years, growling, their claws scraping along the snow as they surround me. Those burning scarlet eyes marring the night, that tiktiktiktiktik of theirs just behind this tree, then right in front of me! My heart quickens. My chest tightens, causing me pain. My breathing shortens and shallows and grows louder. I can't help but tremble. Eric, where are you!?
"WAKE UP!" The warmth is ripped from my face and the cold immediately sinks its fangs into my flesh. I force my eyes open only to see darkness.
"I TOLD YE TO NO' FALL ASLEEP!" he yells over the howling blizzard. He's angry, upset, but I don't care. I...simply don't. God, I'm so tired.
I cannot see him, but I hear his grunts and heaving breaths as he removes some of the packs he surrounded me with. This terrible blizzard is quick to assault me with the barrier half gone now, throwing freezing snowflakes in my face like a thousand tiny needles.
"GET'UP!" Two large hands grab my arms and haul me to my feet. I try to stand on my own, but the wind is so fierce the she would knock me back if it were not for the two hands still upholding me. My flesh shivers from this bitter cold, but my body feels too weak to tremble. Strange. I've never felt that before.
Eric starts dragging me through this blizzard, in this pitch black. Our progress against the fierce wind is terribly slow.
"MOVE WITH ME!" he yells. I shuffle my feet through the snow as best as I can, pushing against the heavy iciness with every inch I move, but my feet are numb! Horror twists my stomach, but I put my numb feet from my mind and focus on every sensation above them. The cold biting into my face and ears, the powerful squeeze of Eric's hands about my arms. Where he is leading me, I know not. All I know is that he drags me with him like a predator drags its prey back to its lair to consume. But he is no predator seeking to consume me. A predator does not shield its prey as he is doing now, pulling me into his strong arms so that his back takes the brunt of this storm. Despite my slow steps, battling for every inch, my already sore muscles crying out from all the exertion and fatigue, we manage to keep moving.
"WE'RE ALMOST THERE!" Eric says. There? Another broken down cabin he found? Another tree? All I do know is that we will not survive out in this cold and in this blackness. It is growing colder with every breath I manage to draw. We need shelter. Any shelter. Fast.
"HERE!" The wind dies down suddenly, her assault less vicious. "Here it is!" he says, his gruff voice echoing against something. Maybe rock? The blizzard still howls her fury, but it has dulled significantly.
"Com'on, o'er here," he pants, trying to catch his breath. He drags me, the heels of my boots scraping over some rocks, towards somewhere until he presses my back against a solid, lumpy surface—like the rocky wall of a cave. "Sit down," he tells me. "Sit down, rest."
I nearly drop to the ground, but he eases me down with his hold still fast about my arms. I lean my head back against the hard wall of the cave, my mind turning to my frozen, numb feet.
"Ye alright!?" he asks, sounding...afraid? "LASS!?" The air shifts near my face and a bear-sized hand grabs the side of my head! I nearly scream, but I stop when I recognize the weight and size of his hand. Eric. He slides his hand down the side of my face while the weight of his other hand presses upon my chest. I jolt from the sudden laying of his hands upon me, but I am powerless against him. Too exhausted.
He tugs at my scarf while he curses, "Damn! I cannae see a thin'! Ye breathin' alright?" He jabs his fingers into the side of my throat, causing me sudden pain. A breathy gasp leaves my aching throat. Silence. Tense, heart-aching silence. All I feel is my pulse pound, pound, pounding against his fingers, begging him to relent. Frustration builds up and pushes against my skin. What the hell is he doing!? I care not how much I've longed for his touch. I do not want his fingers jabbed into my throat!
Pent up anger surges down my arm and sends my hand swinging through the pitch black. It strikes the side of Eric's head, successfully wrenching his fingers from my throat. I gasp in a desperate breath, my heart silently thanking me by retreating back into my chest.
He gasps. Suddenly, his laughter fills the space between us. Fear starts filling me.
"The cold hasnae claimed ye, eh?" he asks me, sounding relieved. His sound of relief soothes me. I have nothing to fear from him...at least for now. His other hand remains pressed against my chest, more or less pinning me against this cave wall. My heart beats against his hand, as strong and as steady as it can beat considering it was cut only yesterday.
"I'm sorry," he says, this time sounding in some pain. Guilt comes over my heart. I caused him that pain. He sighs and takes his hand from my chest. "I've seen this kind of cold take many. It starts with'em fallin' asleep as ye did. They're cold, weak...impossible to wake. Their heart and their breathing slows, and they get colder and colder until they..."
Silence. The weight grows two-fold on my heart. How horrible he knows. It sounds terrible, watching them die no matter how hard he fought to wake them. Who has he lost to the cold? Comrades? Friends? God forbid his family!? Was it that merciless winter that claimed my three toes where he learned this terrible knowledge? Or was it from before then? How I wish I had my voice to ask him these questions, but would he even answer them? Would he grow angry with me for asking such insensitive questions? For prying too much. God, I don't even have my voice!
My heart aches terribly and begs me to embrace him—partly selfish as my frozen flesh seeks his warmth, but also to assure him that he has not let someone else be claimed by this cold. But that is quite the assumption I am making—that my life matters to him that much that he would feel guilty should the cold have claimed me tonight.
The blizzard still rages outside, howling, whistling, angry that she can no longer touch us. I cannot see anything in this pitch black. Not even a hint of his silhouette.
"I had to leave some of our supplies behind," Eric says, changing the bitter, somber air to something even colder. "With the way this snow is comin' down, I'm no' sure we'll be able to find our supplies in the morn." Eric groans in the black, his groan briefly muffled by the passing of his hand over his mouth. "We'll be blessed if we're no' snowed in here."
Fear strikes my heart. If he sees little hope in this black, bitter cold, a man who was bred for this harsh wintery world, then our situation has quickly turned bleak. My eyes, throat, and the back of my nose burn with the urge to cry. I sniffle back the water draining out of my nose and draw my knees close to my chest, still trying my best to ignore my numb feet. Greta—I left her back there in that hell. I promised her I'd come back to free her! God, is she still alive?
No. No! I will not let myself succumb to that likely reality! Sara didn't give up hope even when she knew death was near. She clung to it. She broke her bones for it, but the hope she didn't give up was that I would someday escape. And I did. I trudged through people's waste with an arrow lodged in my kidney. I leapt into the raging, black waters of the Gastean Sea. The sea could have claimed my life, but she, for some unknown reason, spat me out onto her cold sands. Ravenna could have found any man to hunt me down, but as if she drew the shortest straw, she called on Eric. Either I am the luckiest person to walk the face of this earth...or Eliza maybe right. Sara was meant to inspire me. Eric is meant to protect me. But what was Sara supposed to inspire me to do? What purpose is Eric to protect me for? Deep down, something pokes at my conscience—but I dare not acknowledge it lest I become even more guilty for knowing it and still refusing it. I can still claim ignorance.
Regardless, the fact remains that even though Greta maybe dead, I still must try to fulfill my promise to her. Firstly, no matter how much my throat hurts, I must find out what Eric's next move is to get us closer to Hammond's come morning.
My stomach knots, but I reach out in the pitch black where I feel his radiating heat and powerful presence pushing against the cold air of this cave. I'm not even sure how big this cave is.
"Er?—" I stop at the sound of silence leaving me. My heart sinks. Of course you have no voice! Remember? You have wished it away! Damn it, is there no way I can communicate with him in this darkness!? Words will do me no good now. I can only grope for help in this darkness. My hand finds his icy leather coat. I ghost my fingertips down his icy sleeve to his hand and squeeze his hand with all my strength no matter how weak I am. I grope the chilled, lumpy rock behind me with my other hand and pull myself to my numb feet.
"What're ye doin'?" he asks. The only thing I can do is step towards the mouth of this cave, tugging him that way, though it is like pulling an unmoving mountain.
"Ye off yer head!? We cannae go out there!? We'll die!"
I turn back to him and take his hand in both of mine. My heart nearly bursts from my chest as I crumple to my knees before him and bring his hand to my mouth. I press my lips to his fingertips, though I barely feel anything with how chilled my lips are.
"Greta," I mouth against his fingers. Tears burn my eyes and spill down my cheeks. "Please!" I have fought so hard to get to this point and there is still so much farther to go. Eric is my only hope of fulfilling my promise to Greta. I sob silently into his hand. He cannot give up now!
He sighs. "We'll reach Hammond's one way or another, ye've my word, but I'm no' gonna put ye in senseless danger! If we cannae leave this cave come morn, then we're no' leavin'!" He takes his hand from my mouth and cradles the side of my neck, stealing a gentle feel of my throat's pulse. "We'll have to wait and pray for better weather. It will come. Believe me."
No matter how much I wish I could protest his words, I can't help my heart softening for him. He's not going to put me in senseless danger. Not him. Not us. Me. He does not consider his own life nor safety. I wish he did. My life matters naught compared to most anyone's. Especially his.
My heart softens too much and begs me to draw nearer to him. Where I lacked courage before, I wrap my arms around his neck. I bury my face into the warmth of his neck and inhale his scent of wet earth and musty leather. For a brief moment, he does not move. He doesn't push me away nor embrace me. Something shifts and his arm wraps around my back, drawing me into his warm front.
"It will come," he says into my ear while he sits back against the cave wall and allows me to huddle beside him for warmth. Hell, for the sake of surviving this night! My eyes grow heavy with the need to sleep. I fight to keep them open, but the longer he goes without yelling at me for falling asleep—or not going to sleep—the more comfortable I find myself with letting sleep claim me. Even should this be my last moment on earth, there is no one I'd rather have beside me than him.