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.

20. Chapter 20 The Tree Well

Chapter 20 The Tree Well

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We reach the next forest, woods—whatever these are—just before sunset. We weave our way in a bit, seeking some form of shelter among these tightly knit trees. They're not nearly as packed together as the dark forest. We have just enough room to maneuver our skis, but we still must use caution lest one of us crashes into a tree and breaks an arm—at best!

"AVOID THE TREES AS BEST YE CAN!" Eric calls back to me. "THESE TREES HAVE WELLS! YE CANNAE FALL INTO ONE!"

His warning sends a chill down my spine, but my brows furrow with confusion. "A – TREE WELL!? WHAT'S THAT!?" Despite my ignorance, I make the extra effort to keep the most distance between my skis and every tree I pass by.

His gruff laughter reaches my ears, sending trickles of pleasure down my neck and spine. "LIKE IT SOUNDS! A WELL, A HOLE AROUND THE TREE! THEY'RE DEADLY TO FALL INTO, BUT THEY MAKE FOR DECENT SHELTER!"

"OH!" There's not much more to say. I do not want to take a tumble into one of these damn tree wells! What's next? We accidentally stumble into a bear's den? I scoff to myself. I'm certain Eric would feel right at home in a bear den.

"THERE! THAT TREE!" Eric points ahead at a particularly large pine tree. "I'LL SHOW YE HOW TO MAKE SHELTER OUT OF THAT TREE WELL!"

We draw closer to the tree and slow to a stop near its side. We untie our feet from our skis and drop our packs. I follow Eric, my stomach knotting with nerves while he trudges through the snow to the base of the tree.

"Be careful," he says, crouching low near the base of the tree. "See here?" He gestures to the low hanging, snow-landed boughs of the pine. I stop beside him and lean forward to see, my hand twitching with the want to grab his shoulder. It would be a seemingly innocent touch, the little lady grabbing the strapping man's shoulder for support, but deep inside, it would only be tinder to this lady's lust. Instead, I grab my knees for support and peer beneath the pine's boughs. Indeed, tucked away beneath its thick branches is a depression in the snow, forming a sort of well about the tree.

"That's a tree well, if I've ever seen one," I muse.

He chuckles. "We'll have to dig our shelter out a bit. Dinnae dig too quickly. Ye risk havin' the snow pour back in and trappin' ye." His warning sends another chill down my spine. Regardless, light is leaving fast. We won't be able to see anything once darkness comes.

"It's better to dig with somethin' other than yer hands to spare 'em of frostbite." He draws his hatchet out from under the folds of his coat, casting me a proud, sidelong look. "Here." He offers his hatchet to me by the shaft!

My eyes widen. "I'm…," I glance down at his hatchet. It's just a plain hatchet, the metal tarnished, the wood well-used—the hatchet of a poor man. I frown and lift my eyes to him. "I'm not too sure about this." I cannot fathom how many lives have ended beneath the swing of that blade. "Are you sure about this?"

Eric chuckles softly. "I'm sure. Take it."

If he is sure...he was sure about giving me my long pole. I raise my hand to the shaft of his hatchet and almost grab it—wait, should I grab it from the underside and not the topside? I move my hand to the underside of the shaft—wait, maybe from the top was better. I move my hand back to the topside of the shaft. Eric's sudden laughter cuts into me.

I look up at him and scowl. "You laugh at me, but I've never picked up a weapon before aside from your knives!"

His face falls, his laughter gone. "I'm sorry, lass. I was only laughin' because—" He shakes his head. "Nevermind. Grab it from the top. The head is heavier than the haft—"

"Haft?" I ask.

He raises his brows at me and nods down to his hatchet, brushing his thumb along the side of the wood shaft. "This part, lass. The, ah...handle."

"Oh."

"Right," he says slowly. "Yer hold will be weaker if yer thumb is on top. If ye dinnae have a good hold of the–handle, it'll fall out of yer hand."

"Obviously," I say, a little dark corner of me pleased with the quip. Guilt hits me instantly. I shouldn't seek revenge like that, even as small as this.

He smirks at me. Whether he took offense to my little insult or not, I cannot tell. "Obviously," he echoes. His eyes dart down to his hatchet and back up to me, waiting. "We should rectify that, startin' tomorrow."

My brows furrow, but I grab the well-used haft of his hatchet from the top. "Rectify what?" A sudden, vulgar thought pops into my mind. Men's loins have a haft. That means Eric—Eric grins up at me, showing some of his teeth. "Yer inexperience with wieldin' weapons," he says.

He lets go of his hatchet, the sudden weight of its head tugging down on the haft! I nearly drop his hatchet, but I tighten my hold of the haft in time, saving it—and possibly my foot, too.

Eric snorts, gruff and deep, much like how I'd imagine a bear sounding. "We'll start tomorrow. For now, let's dig ourselves a tree well." He pulls his hatchet's twin out from under his coat, handling the weapon with years of experience. "Try diggin' like this." He submerges his hatchet's head into the snow and lifts it up, collecting a sizable snow pile on the blade. He tosses the snow aside and presses his hatchet into the snow again much like one would a shovel. It's not like we have shovels, though. I roll my eyes. No, that would make our lives far too easy.

I drop to my knees beside Eric and try imitating him with his hatchet, digging up the snow from under the boughs of the tree. He moves aside and digs up snow on the outside of the boughs. "Ye dig under the tree. I'll build a wall around the well. It'll break the wind."

I frown, but I dig deeper beneath the tree. I want him beside me, but light is falling fast. I dig deeper, scooting farther beneath the pine tree's sheltering limbs and the darkness they cast. "How deep do I have to dig?"

"Dig as close to the earth as possible. The dirt will be warmer than the snow."

A chill goes down my spine. Hearing him say my name...At least he can't really see me. "Really!? The hard, frozen earth will be warmer!?" I ask incredulously.

He laughs outside of the boughs. "Aye! Dinnae worry, we'll have a fire goin' and we'll hug each other for warmth."

My heart beats harder and my stomach knots. The knowledge that we will be in a small space with each other in a moment or two, seeking warmth from this winter...it could happen tonight. God, I want it to happen tonight. But how do I tell Eric this? I could never simply say, 'Please Eric, bed me tonight!' Shame and embarrassment heat my blood up far more than any lust for Eric has. Even though I didn't say those words aloud, I want to dig a hole and hide myself in it forever.

I dig the snow out from under the right side of this pine tree with zeal, doing my best to heed his warning to not dig too quickly. I dig more, advancing myself from the waist up beneath the dark boughs. I grit my teeth and thrust the head of Eric's hatchet into the snow, striking frozen ground. I would kick myself if I could, but that would only raise his eyebrows. I frown and sit back on my heels, the dying boughs brushing the top of my scarf. How embarrassing. How shameful. I'm like an animal, mewling and begging. God, I am an animal. Driven mad by the threat of my impending death at Finn's hands and by the need to feel, savor, cherish...to live, but a senseles animal does not seek to live. She only seeks to survive, listening to her instincts alone. Those fourteen years of hell, I've lived as an animal. I had no choice. I'd be dead now if I hadn't. Sara's ring, the promise I made to her, and the goodness and the hope she espoused would never have left my cell.

"Ye done under there?" Eric asks from behind me, disrupting my self-pity.

My wide eyes snap behind me, stopping in his blue ones. He peeks between the snowy boughs, grinning that silly, toothy grin of his. Thank God he seems blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil. I force a smile for him. The last thing I want to do is reveal to him how much of an animal I truly am. If anything, that'll only reveal my hideous nature to him. No man wants to bed an animal.

"Almost, I think! I just have a bit more to dig up!"

His grin softens, his eyes tracing their regular path between my eyes and my lips. "Alright. I'll get a fire started while ye finish."

He goes to stand, but desperation flies out of my mouth. "Don't you need help carrying the wood!?"

He looks back at me and smirks. "I can carry my own wood." He nods to the tree well beneath my knees. "Once ye finish diggin', try to cut down some of the drier branches without destroyin' the roof o'er yer pretty head." He casts me a smug grin. My cheeks flush with hot blood, but not all of it is desire. If he saw me beneath my coif, I doubt he'd still be calling my head pretty. His eyes drop to my heavy mouth and linger, his smug grin lessening while I drain his joy from him yet again! Damn me!

"What's wrong?" he asks, frowning.

I swallow hard, my nerves buzzing like annoying flies by my ears. Should I tell him? God, if I tell him, would that end what has started between us? Is that something I want to risk? Would it be better to be upfront about all my wounds and scars? How much worse would it be if and when he starts undressing me that he uncovers every bit of my ugliness? That nightmare of him last night...how telling is that?

His eyes fill with worry. "Lass?—"

"I'm sorry, Eric, I just wonder…," I trail off, losing the little nerve I had. Oh for God's sake, I never had the damn nerve!

His frown deepens and he looks up at the sky, night nearly upon us. He looks down at me. "I'll be back in a bit. We'll talk then."

I open my mouth, something at the tip of my tongue, but he gets up and ambles away. I listen closely to his receding steps crunching in the snow…Silence. I suck in a frigid breath. I'm alone. A chill courses through me, making me shiver for a moment. I'll be back in a bit. We'll talk then. I do my best to still my shivering and dig the rest of the snow out from under this blasted tree, exposing big patches of black, frozen earth. Even if I wanted to talk about it...I don't think I could bring myself to do so.

Whore. Finn's insult echoes in my mind, cutting me to the bone. How true that is. Even though Sara was a prostitute, she was no whore. She had the courage to not be selfish in her final moment. She had the courage to accept her death and the foolhardiness to place great hope in me. If anything, the greatest act of courage was her entrusting her ring to me and for believing in me that I would eventually escape and deliver her ring to her husband.

I dig away the last patch of snow from the hard, frozen black earth. I look at the boughs above me and leave Eric's hatchet on the ground to examine them closely. I move aside this branch and that branch, seeing where I can cut them to maintain the solidness of our shelter. This branch here is thin enough to chop, and it leaves no opening to the dreadful wind. This branch here will be good too. I take one hand from the boughs and pat the ground for Eric's hatchet, not wanting to lose sight of the two branches I had found.

My hand passes over the lump of his hatchet's haft. I snort to myself while I pick up his hatchet and take my first, trembling swing at the bough's neck. CRACK! I startle at the sudden sound and frown. There the blade is barely having made a dent in the wood. I pull the hatchet out of the bough and take another hesitant swing. CRACK! Fright surges through me, but I force myself to not jump this time. I shake my head and yank his hatchet out of the wood. How does he expect to train me with his hatchets when I can barely chop a skinny branch!? I'm so weak and his hatchet is so heavy!

My arm trembles and my muscles ache. How I want to drop his hatchet and rest now. I sigh. I am such a burden to him. He carries all our packs. He starts all the fires. He carries most of the wood for them. He did most of the fishing, damn it! He carried my cowardly, sinful hide all the way to Hymark. To top all that off, he is constantly fighting Maacthis to keep his evil from me! How the man can do all this and still manage to smile let alone stand despite my constant efforts to drain his joy from him...how he can endure all this I cannot fathom. I would have crumbled apart and given up long ago. I cannot be more of a burden to him than I already am.

I draw in the strongest breath I can muster, filling up my small lungs with as much air as they can hold, and swing his hatchet at the bough. CRACK! It makes a larger dent than before. Not much larger, but another swing or two and the branch should be free. Wait. Perhaps instead of swinging his hatchet, I can snap the branch off. I set his hatchet down, brace my free hand against the tree for support, and lean all my weight into the branch. SNAP! The branch gives way. I start falling! My arms wrap about the pine's trunk, saving my face from striking the earth. I huff and stare at the pitch-colored ground. The only thing separating the ground from the near blackness of night is the wall of snow surrounding me.

Fear twists my gut. Where is Eric? He's been gone for sometime now!—I stiffen at the sound of approaching footfalls crunching in the snow. Despite my stomach starting to calm, my gut wrenches with a worrying thought. What if that isn't Eric?—crunch, cruNCH, cRUNCH, CRUNCH—the footsteps stop outside the boughs. I keep silent. God above, I know you don't answer any prayer—"Lass?" he asks, the sound of his voice soothing me. My tense muscles unravel and my wasted breath escapes my numb lips.

"I'm here." I crawl to the opening in the boughs and peek outside. My eyes still on his familiar hulking silhouette, a large bundle of branches in his arms. Some unseen light from above reflects off the snow, gifting us with faint illumination this night.

"Ye alright?" he asks me, worry thick in his voice. He crouches low, drops his bundle of branches onto the snow, and arranges them for a fire. "Snow is good at mufflin' sound, but I dinnae hear a thin' when I approached." He takes out his hatchet and flint and strikes them together repeatedly.

"I'm fine now that you're here. I was just spooked. I wasn't sure if that was you coming back or…," I trail off.

"Ah. It's smart to keep quiet then," he says, sounding distracted. I frown and shrink back into our tree well. Once he gets the fire going, I'll finish chopping the rest of the branches. I can't see much right now.

After several more strikes of his flint against his iron, he starts the beginnings of a fire and quickly nurtures it into those wonderful crackling flames. The fire's gold light reaches me, giving me enough light to see so that I don't accidentally chop off my fingers or my hand. I shudder from the thought. I watch Eric feed a few more branches into the flames from behind the cover of one of the lower hanging boughs. I would return to the task of gathering tree branches to cover the frozen earth with...but surely watching him for a moment won't harm anything.

He plucks a stick out of the fire and pokes at the flames. He really likes to do that. Worry twists my stomach. "That branch isn't burnt, is it?" I ask, shattering the sweet silence.

He turns his head to me, his eyes wide and innocent. "What?"

I frown and peek my head out from behind the bough, trying to see his stick better. "Last night you burned your hands. You're not going to do it again because of some," I shrug and nod to his stick, "idiosyncrasy of yours, are you?"

He raises his brows at me. "Idio–syncrasy? Is that how ye say it?"

My brows furrow. "You've...never heard that word before?" Is that a word only nobility uses?

He chuckles. "I'm from the north, lass, remember? Yer tongue isnae my first language. What does that word mean?"

My eyes widen. "I'm surprised! You're always the one teaching me!" A rare smile spreads my mouth. "Now I can teach you something!"

A harder laugh tries to escape him, but he contains it behind his toothy grin. "Ye teach me more than ye know, but tell me what it means."

I shrug and point to his poking stick. "That right there." He glances down at his poking stick, slowly stopping his random poking the flames. "That's an idiosyncrasy." I pull my hand back into the shelter of the tree well.

His smile fades and he looks at me, confused. "This branch?"

I snort and shake my head. "No, you poking at the fire with your stick–er branch! That's an idiosyncrasy, an odd habit, something that you do without even realizing that you're doing it."

"Odd?" He chuckles dryly. "That's no' the first time someone's called me that."

I huff in exasperation. "I'm not calling you odd! I wouldn't even dare to say that your habit is odd, just...worrying. I don't want you to burn your hands again."

His amused expression softens to something tender. "I willnae. Last night was…" he looks to the flames and resumes poking them again "...a tough fight, but last night is o'er with." He glances at me, still poking at the flames. "Did ye finish with our well?"

Embarrassment fills my cheeks. "Almost. I just need to cover the earth with some of the boughs."

He nods. "Aye, then ye finish doin' that. I'll gut and cook some of our fish."

It's a difficult task, but we manage to tear our eyes from each other. I pick up Eric's hatchet, sift through the boughs, and do my best to chop and snap the branches that won't threaten the solidness of our shelter. Despite my busy hands, my mind wanders to Eric. He will crawl in here to sleep beside me. It will be hard for me to not kiss him. Very hard. My heart sinks beneath sudden guilt. He wanted more from me back at that blasted lake. He wanted more than my fleeting friendship, but I cannot give him more than that. Not without putting his heart at risk of hurt, anger...perhaps even hatred for me. No, I cannot stain his heart with hatred. If anyone has a good heart, it's him. For his sake, I will not ruin that for him. Surely, though, he is a man. Surely he would not be opposed to a night of pleasure that sees him satisfied and untouched? Surely!? I huff aloud, frustration, anticipation, fear, lust—all of it twists me into terrible knots. I gather up the last few boughs and spread them out across the frozen black earth. I must not think of it. The more I think of it, the more I'll question it, the more I'll lose my nerve to seek his goodness—no, think of something else. A song, perhaps? Yes, I miss singing so much! It's the one good thing that I'll get to take with me to the grave.

I draw in a breath—wait, Eric is out there! I glance over my shoulder. He holds the first trout I had caught in one hand and his knife in the other. He angles the trout belly up and slices into the trout's belly with his knife like butter! My heart twists more the further he drags his knife down the trout's belly. I cannot watch! I turn back to the boughs and focus on spreading them out. Instead of singing, I settle with humming the tune softly, the words running through my head.

Watch the little ones go out to play. Their laughter carries in the cool breeze. So sweet to their mother's ears. It warms her heart to see their cheer.

Round and round they go all day. Hand in hand, they sing this tune. Round and round we go all day. We chase the sun from dusk to dawn. How we wish to chase the moon. But here comes dusk and mother's voice. 'My children, come in, night is near.'

So in they go for food and for bed to wait until the sun comes again.

Kiss and kiss their mother gives. Her hand to soothe, she sings this tune. Sleep, oh sleep, my little ones. The sun has gone, the moon has come. Round and round the sun and moon go. Eternal dance of life and time. Soon the dawn will bring the sun. Then, we'll rise to have some more fun.

Sleep, oh sleep, my little ones. Soon the dawn will bring the sun. Then round and round you shall go. Hand in hand, singing this tune 'til the new moon.

I remember how mama used to sing that to me—"Dinnae stop now!" Eric says, startling me. My head snaps back to him, my neck straining to see him over my shoulder. He grins broadly and shakes his head. "I was enjoyin' yer wee song! Why'd ye stop?"

My face blazes and I look away. "I–I was singing!?"

He laughs. "Aye!"

Oh God. "I tried to not be so loud! I didn't want you to hear me."

Brief silence follows. Brief it will be before he says more. I hear his sharp intake of air—"I finished up with the well," I say quickly and glance back at him, doing my best to ignore the disappointment weighing down his face. I look down at the boughs lining the ground and pat them over. "Come and see. Tell me if I need more branches."

He moves towards our tree well, his leathers sliding across the snow. My heart speeds up and my stomach tightens the closer he draws. I better move. I sit back on my heels—my shoulders bump into something solid! I gasp. Eric chuckles above me, bracing his arms on both sides of me, trapping me on my hands and knees beneath him!

"Easy, lass," he says. I shiver, acutely aware of the length of his torso barely pressing on my whole, sore backside. He laughs suddenly, jolting me. "Ye told me to come and see!" He rolls off of me and falls onto his back on the bed of boughs!

I gape at him, watching him laugh and wriggle on the boughs like a child who had just fallen into his favorite bed. Falling onto his back like that after our tumble on the ice earlier today—my back and bottom are still sore! "We took a hard tumble on the ice earlier! How's your back?"

His eyes shift to me, his laughter and his smile failing to leave him. "They're fine! I'm fine!" His laughter ebbs and he stops wriggling. He stretches his arms above his head and scoots further up the bed of boughs, trying to fit his bear-sized body into our shelter. He stops moving and sighs, a happy, relaxed look shaping his face. He folds his arms on his belly and stretches out his legs as much as he can, though he has to keep them bent because of his size. I find myself enthralled by all the black shadows of pine needles dancing across his face. The fire's light makes his skin almost...glow.

He sighs contently and shifts his eyes to me without turning his head. "I huvnae crawled into a bed like this in a long time," he says.

My brows furrow and I sit back on my heels. "A bed...made of dead, prickly pine branches?"

We both burst into soft chuckling.

He shakes his head, still chuckling. "Nae, I mean," he quells his laughter a breath before me, "I huvnae slept in a proper bed for more than two years now." His smile softens. He reaches out to me and grabs my hand, holding it securely. "Thank ye for this."

I frown at him. Why is he thanking me? Surely he has laid on a cot at least once within the last month. Even I had a bed in my imprisonment. Sure, it was hard and rickety as hell, but it was still a bed. "It's pine branches, Eric. Prickly. And dead."

His smile lessens, but it doesn't completely abandon him. "Ye'd be surprised how soft it is. Ye did a good job." He glances at the empty spot beside him and looks up at me. He releases my hand and pats the empty spot. "Lie down. See for yerself."

I swallow and glance down at the empty spot. Eric presses his hand into the boughs, depressing the pine needles as if they were made of goose down feathers. My stomach tightens and my loins tingle. I look at him. He returns my gaze, patient and waiting. My gut wrenches with a warning, telling me not to do it. But why? If anything, this puts me in the perfect position. Perhaps I don't have to say a word? Just kiss him. Touch him. Carefully. Each touch will tempt, lure, and build until it reaches its climax.

My whole body shakes. My stomach twists about itself, knotting itself so much that I fear it will rip apart my insides. Despite all this, I crawl in further and slowly lay down beside him, careful to not plop down on my sore rump. He grins at me, pleased as I carefully wriggle on the branches beside him.

"Oh my God," I murmur, stilling on the branches, my eyes fixed on the dark boughs above me.

"What's wrong!?" he asks with alarm.

I giggle at his sudden concern and roll my head to face him, meeting his worried gaze. "You're right! This is surprisingly soft!"

He bursts out laughing, his concern gone as quick as it came. I watch his laughter ebb and drift away like the coming and going of a gentle breeze. Somehow, I find myself ensnared in his dark eyes, barely any blue visible. The tingling between my thighs grows until it burns. His dark eyes stray from mine and slowly travel down my body. My heart pounds against my ribs. The air is now thick, heavy, intoxicating, and ripe with anticipation. Yes, this is what I want—no, what I need. The lust grows in the black centers of his eyes. His hesitancy and care has shrunk. I see no love. A small pang enters my heart, but nothing more than that. This is how it starts. I must be slow and careful. A touch, then a kiss, and let it go from there.

I let my eyes drop to his mouth. They're cracked and tinged blue, silently begging for some warmth. This will be pleasure for him. Nothing more. For me, this will be an all consuming embrace of his goodness upon me. I lift my eyes to his. The air grows thicker and heavier. My heart thumps and swells with nigh unbearable need.

I bite the inside of my mouth and slowly roll towards him. He rolls towards me and cradles my jaw, guiding my lips to his. The numbing, chilled press of his lips on mine swells my heart so much that it threatens to burst at the fissure of the wound from five days ago. I grab his strong arm while he grabs my waist with both hands and we pull ourselves together. Feeling the solid length of his front against mine floods my nerves with an exquisite rush, tightening my muscles and urging my body to arch into him. A muffled sound escapes him. He clings to my waist so tightly that it causes me pain, but I don't care.

He ends our kiss abruptly. My eyes open, meeting his. Our burning lungs suck in air. The boughs block out much of our fire's light, casting his face in near darkness, but there is enough of a glow to see his eyes. They're darker than I have ever seen them, reminiscent of the black storming waters of the Gastean Sea beating upon the black rock.

As soon as the fire starts to ease in my lungs and his breathing starts to slow, he moves towards me. My eyes clench shut. His mouth presses on mine. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me harder against him, urging my lips to part. The hot wetness of his tongue ventures past my teeth. There's not much to taste from his mouth. Just the feel of his fierce, heated passion. I can barely breathe through my nose because it is crushed against the side of his, but I can breathe in his scent of earth and leather mingling with the burning wood of our fire. His scent is so heady that I grow dizzy. Thank God I am already lying down. If not, I would have collapsed.

My heart is too swollen to beat properly, teetering carelessly upon the precipice, begging to jump into those storming black waters just to douse the flames tormenting every inch of my body and soul. Only he can put out the flames. He is so close to doing so. This all started with a gentle kiss and one hand to his arm. I still only have one hand on his arm, and yet he is going where I will him. One more touch, a forward gesture, and he should be persuaded.

I run my trembling hand down his chilly coat sleeve to his wrist. A sudden, terrible guilt wrenches my heart. What if he thinks this is more than just a night of pleasure? No, surely he could not think that! I gave him that callous reminder of why we were out on that damn lake. He pulled back from me then even though he kept his arms about me. He was more removed from me than I wanted then, but now he is too close again! Why!? Was it me thanking him for teaching me how to fish out of the ice? How could a word of thanks give him false hope? I thought then that we had reached a perfect compromise. He was close enough to my flames to savor their warmth, but not too close to burn himself.

No, I shouldn't want this for his sake...yet, part of me does. The selfish part of me. As far as I am concerned, there is no one on this earth that cares for me beyond what I can do for them. Even those two saints, Sara and Eliza, expected and expect that I can do something for them. Eric asks for nothing more than a measly fifty gold pieces for delivering me to Hammond's. Alive and well, he added of his own will. Fifty gold pieces is not worth the length nor the dangers of this journey. Yet he is leading me there, providing for me and protecting me against all that will harm me. Not only that, but he said that he cares about me. I...pray that he only cares for me as a friend and nothing more. I shouldn't want more than his fleeting friendship. So...I won't want more. Afterall, I saw no love in his eyes. I only saw care and hesitancy. Even those two were almost consumed by desire.

With renewed certainty and a heart stinging with the thought that he does not love me, I pull his hand from the back of my neck and bring it down to my hip. My hand still trembles as I start guiding his hand down the side of my thigh—He drags his hand down the rest of my thigh to my knee. He hooks his fingers behind my knee and brings my leg over his hip! My stomach drops as he rolls us onto my back. I grab his other arm with my freed hand. He leans his weight into my pelvis, pressing heavily between my legs. A crushing wave of pleasure rolls through my loins, into my stomach, and wanes in the bottom of my chest, wringing a loud gasp out of me that rips apart our kiss.

I barely manage to open my heavy eyes. My chest heaves for air. God, I've never felt anything like that before. If this is what it will be like, I need this. I need him. I wrap my arms around his strong neck and try to pull him down for another kiss, but he doesn't budge!

"Eric!" I groan, frustration nipping at me. I manage to open my eyes a little more—He looks down at me, the wrinkles of his forehead deepened with worry. The air shifts between us to something far less exciting and something far more...damning.

Some sense returns to me. "What's wrong?" My voice is hoarse.

He shakes his head, his brows furrowing with anger. "What am I doin'!?" He rolls off me and sits up quickly just like he did on the ice after he first kissed me.

Panic grips me! I sit up and grab his arm. "Please don't leave me here! Not now!" Damn it! How pathetic I must look clinging to his arm like this, begging him to not leave my hideous hide.

"What!?" He looks back at me, shocked and offended. "I'm no' gonna leave ye! Why would ye—" He looks down at the boughs between us. He squeezes his eyes shut and scrubs his hand down his mouth, pulling his arm out of my weak hands. He drops his hand on his outstretched leg and sighs.

My heart aches and stings. My stomach is so knotted that I don't see how it can ever be fully unknotted. Why did he stop? Was it something I did? Did I offend him in some way—Or did his damn sense of honor get in the way? I open my mouth, his name at the tip of my tongue—no, speaking now will only make me seem more desperate. I doubt seeming desperate would attract any man's eye. If anything, it would just annoy him. I close my mouth and watch Eric carefully for any sign of him leaving. He keeps his head bowed and his eyes clenched shut. His shoulders are tense. I know he keeps saying that he won't leave me, but I...I just can't bring myself to believe him now. I remember how he spoke of those delvirs and how they welcomed evil into their heart. He despises them. He will also despise me for my lies and deceit when he learns of them. If anything, my dream of him last night was only prophesying my future.

He shakes his head suddenly, his face twisting and wrinkling with growing anger. "Yer innocent. I cannae take advantage of—"

"Stop saying that!" I snap, my sudden anger getting the better of me. His eyes open wide and lift to me. Both of us...we're taken aback by my outburst. I suck in a deep, frigid breath, filling my lungs as much as possible in an attempt to cool my anger and my damning lust. It works somewhat. "Stop saying that I'm innocent," I say more calmly. "Please stop believing that."

He frowns deeply and shakes his head. "But ye are—"

"Stop!" I drop my gaze to his hands, unable to bear looking into his eyes anymore. Both of his hands are balled into tight fists, his knuckles blanched. How did we get here? From friends to kissing to the very beginnings of passion to this...impasse! All this in one day!?

"Greta—"

"I'm not – innocent." How I hate hearing her name coming out of his mouth. "I am naive in some ways, that I will admit, but I know…" God, I cannot bring myself to say something like this so directly. How do I word this, then? Damn...maybe...maybe this way. "I have never been with a man." I barely manage to spit the words out, my voice wavering between muttering and whispering. My hands feel so...bare! I clasp my hands together and wring them. That barely feels better. "Of that, I'm innocent, but I know – I–I sort of know how...a man is with a woman. Eric, I've been promised—" The words catch in my throat, horrible memories of Finn threatening to resurface. I do my best to suppress them and focus solely on the man here now. Yes, he is here now. He has not left me yet. There's no telling when he will decide enough is enough and leave me for good, but for now, he is here.

My heart beats harder and harder with every beat, yearning to be as close to him as possible. "You're a good man. You're strong, yet you are gentle. You're—" Dare I say he is my friend again? Is that something I want to remind him of? No, that may lead him further down the path of false hope. I swallow hard, steel what nerves I do have, and force my chin up. My eyes cross his. His brows are still furrowed with worry and restraint, but his eyes are nearly black with...I'm not entirely sure what. Whatever they are dark with, they're full of many things. Many thoughts. Many worries. There is no anger.

"I trust you," I say, settling on those three words. Slowly, the tension drains from his face and body. His brows slowly relax, the wrinkles in his forehead growing shallower and thinner. His many worries are still there. I sigh and look down at his hands. There's nothing I can say to take away his worries, but uttering that I trust him has loosened his fists, allowing his blood to color his knuckles. My fingers twitch, wanting so dearly to feel his calloused hands. Damn, even placing my hand in his now could remind him that this is wrong. Yes, this is wrong, but there are varying degrees of wrong. I intend to do this only to give him pleasure and make sure that he is left untouched...but how I want to feel his hand in mine. Perhaps this one small gesture will not persuade him to choose right over wrong, or to cherish false hope. Perhaps this one small gesture is needed? It's a gamble. I've waited long enough for him to leave me or touch me, and he has done neither! Damn it all! I pray this works.

I pull my gloves off and tuck them into my belt. My hand trembles with both the chill and nerves as I reach out to him. Carefully, slowly, I slip my shaking fingers into his hand, bit by bit, up to my knuckles, and I stop there. I dare not push for more. All I have now is my mouth and the words my mind and heart can conjure up. "For these last fourteen years, I have known so little goodness and much, much evil." I fall silent and wait for him...His hand tightens about my fingers, holding me securely, yet gently. A fraction of boldness builds in my chest and throat. "You..." I lift my eyes to him, all his worries still etched into his face, but he is more at ease. "You are good."

He frowns deeply. "Lass...I've done many terrible thin's—"

"So have I!" I tighten my hand about his and lean towards him, putting our faces closer together. I shake my head at him. "Yet you say I have a good heart. If I've sinned, yet I have a good heart, then why can't the same be said for you?"

He sighs. "I see yer heart—"

"And I see yours." I press my free hand upon his heart. Despite his thick leather vest and studded epaulet, I feel the steady, strong beating of his heart beneath my hand. My eyes widen. My God, his life! There's so much of it! Three centuries at least...yet I sense that much of it has been cut short by past wounds. Eric winces briefly—as if my hand upon his heart hurt him! I quickly retract my hand. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you!?" I wince. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

His brows furrow. "What?" he asks, sounding as if he just woke up. He suddenly shakes his head. "Nae, ye dinnae hurt me." He laughs once, his brows furrowing with more bewilderment. "Yer wee touch? Why would that hurt me?"

My mouth becomes parched. I swallow down what little bit of spit I have and lie, "It couldn't obviously. Unless I hit you really hard, then it would hurt."

He chuckles, easing the air between us. A faint smile tugs at my lips, but my smile quickly vanishes with Eric's. The air grows one hundred times heavier, weighing on my head and shoulders.

Eric frowns and grabs my free hand in his, holding both of my hands in his. That brief diversion in our heartrending exchange is over.

"Lass, I care about ye." Something flashes across his eyes, but he hardens his face, chasing away whatever it was. Whatever it was, it lashes my heart with guilt's terrible whip. He squeezes my hands tighter, the air so thick that it's difficult to breathe. "I dinnae want to hurt ye. It'd be wrong of me to—"

"Why don't you want this!?" I say, unable to restrain myself anymore. So, will he turn away from me now?

His frown deepens and he shakes his head. "This? If by this ye mean me beddin' ye, then I want this more than ye should know," he says, so stern and so blunt that my ears, my cheeks, and my loins burn. Whore. Finn's cruel voice cuts me to the bone. I want to look away so that I may hide my shame from Eric, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot turn my head. He can be blunt, but this? I'm not sure if he could be anymore blunt than this.

His eyes shift back and forth in mine, searching me, waiting for me to respond...to move. They shift back and forth, back and forth, seeking, searching...they slowly still and dim. "Ye dinnae know what yer askin' for. Ye may have some idea, but ye said yer naive to a lot of thin's. Doin' this," he inclines his head to me in such a way that it seems...reproving, "it will hurt ye more than ye realize. Aye, it may feel good for a moment, but it will leave lastin' marks on ye—"

"I want those marks."

He only frowns more. "I dinnae think ye do."

I groan, frustration overboiling in me. "Why do you care!? I'm not asking for your heart! I don't want it!"

Something flashes across his eyes again, lingering a little longer than before, but he banishes it again with another hard look. "I ca—"

"I have known evil for fourteen years! Finn promised me he would make me know such evil intimately and then slit my throat at the height of it!" My eyes sting sharply and well with unbidden tears, blurring my sight of Eric. They quickly brim over and spill down my cheeks. I yank my hands out of Eric's and bury my face in my hands. A gasping sob escapes me. God above, I never thought I would admit that to him. How desperate I truly am.

"That bastard willnae touch ye!" Eric snarls.

I shake my head in my hands, trying to stem my tears, but more pool in my eyes and spill down my cheeks and into my hands. "You can't guarantee that," I say into my hands.

"I will die before—"

"NO!" Panic and anger race through me, pulling my weeping eyes out of my hands to see his blurry face. "Please!" Another sob escapes me. "Don't say that!"

Eric shakes his head, his anger and stubbornness palpable. "Ye cannae tell me what to say."

I sniffle back the water draining out of my nose. "No, I can't." I sniffle again and drop my hands in my lap. "But it doesn't change whether he will succeed or not. No matter how hard you fight, no matter how far or how fast we go, no matter what you do, you cannot guarantee that he won't ever touch me again."

A tense, terrible silence comes between us. It's full of guilt and longing. I'm not sure of his heart, but my heart is pounding like a violent hammer on the brittle anvil of my sternum. No, no matter how much I may want his heart, I cannot ask for it.

"I…," I break the silence, but I barely cut through the terrible guilt and longing hanging between us. "I didn't want to beg. It's not...becoming, but here I am as pathetic as ever." My eyes drop to my lap, the tears flowing freely. I'm at a loss. Even if I had his friendship before, it is long gone now. God, why keep this all bottled up anymore? There's no point. I can never bring myself to be as blunt as him, but I can be as blunt as I possibly can be. "I know a great deal about Ravenna's powers. She can do more than just sap life from an unwilling heart and put it wherever she wills. She can summon those black glass knights. If she really wanted to, she could control the weather, too."

"What!?" he hisses.

I nod, not daring to lift my gaze to him. "Making deals with demons is not beyond her. I wouldn't be surprised if she made some deal with a demon to try and find me." My own words frighten me. After learning that we humans are the ones who can become demons and seeing the devastation Ravenna has wrought upon my home and my people...perhaps she is too far gone. Could it be possible that not one shred of goodness remains in her? Could...could it be possible that she has become a demon? God, if she is desperate enough to cut my heart out of my chest and consume it, I...well, if she can betray a whole kingdom in one night even after winning over the hearts of the king and his daughter, then perhaps making a deal with another demon to find me is not beyond her. She certainly has the means to do so. So, it begs the question—why not? She tried sending Eric after me, but that didn't work. She will employ other means.

"What else do ye know about her!?" Eric sneers.

I shake my head. I'm so tired of his anger. "That's about it. Some of it is guesswork, but most of it is truth. All I know is that you're one man. Nothing you say or do can guarantee anything, but one thing is guaranteed." Daringly, I lift my eyes to him, my sight a little clearer. He looks down at me, his anger steadily leaving him. There is a heaviness in his gaze. He, too, is tired of his anger. Whatever happens now is up to him.

"We have now," I say. My eyes dart down to my hands, my shyness and shame making it too hard to keep looking at him. "You don't have to. I want you, but if you don't want me, then that's fine." My lower lip quivers with the resurging need to cry. The tears well in my eyes again and spill down my face. "I thought about this," I swallow a big lump down my throat, "for the last few days." I sniffle softly, trying to not sound too disgusting. "I'm aware of all the consequences of doing...this. I want to know goodness just once." I wring my hands together more, wincing from the brief biting of my fingernails into the backs of my hands. "I'm not asking for your heart nor your loyalty. I could never ask that of you. I only ask that you let me know your goodness just once."

His blurry hands come into my sight and gently pull my hands apart. He holds my hands in his hands, rubbing the backs of my hands where I had dug myself with my nails. "When did ye last bleed?" he asks me suddenly.

My eyes widen and spring up to his. "What!?"

Though my sight is blurry, I can just make out him frowning. He takes one hand from mine and brushes the tears away from my cheek. "Yer menses, lass. Ye said yer aware of all the consequences." He cradles my whole cheek in his hand. "Creatin' a child could be one of 'em."

How did that never cross my mind!? Was I so wrapped up in my selfish whims that I never considered someone who I could possibly create? Yes, I was too damn selfish to do so. Damn it! I have no idea how he'll respond. All I can do...is tell him the truth. I cannot lie about this. This truly is up to him. I want this. No, not this, but him. I can have him just for this night only if he truly wants me.

I swallow hard. God, the least I can do is give him the truth for once. He has given me so much. Food, drink, true safety, true rest, reprieve from Maacthis' torment...happiness. "I…," I shake my head in his hand, "...I don't remember when I last bled. It's been...awhile." I want to lean my cheek into his touch, but I can't bring myself to do that. I can't ask for his heart, but I can ask for his tenderness and care.

"Please," I place my small hand over his, almost covering half of it, "show me your care. Allow me to feel your strength and your gentleness. Show me what goodness feels like just once," I stumble over the last few words with a sob, more tears streaming down my cheeks, leaving me more susceptible to the winter's brutal touch. "That is only if you want to," I spit out quickly.

I sense the restraint tightening his muscles, like a lake that filled with too much rainwater and is pushing against the walls of the levee. Whether the levee walls stay strong enough remains to be seen. He moves his hand to the back of my head. My eyes fall shut. I wait, hoping silently for his kiss.

A low, strained groan tickles my ears. I open my eyes as he takes his hand from the back of my head, my sight of him still blurry. My heart sinks, all my hope dashed cruelly on the rocks. A resurgence of tears spills out of my eyes. "Eric—"

"Believe me, lass, I want ye, but…" He sighs. He looks down at my hands and releases my hand, bringing his hands to himself. "I cannae remember how many prostitutes and whores I've fucked. Gods only know how many wee bairns I've fathered," he sneers, so full of scorn for himself.

I gasp involuntarily. I never...of course, I figured he must have paid for a few women. That's how he met Sara. But for him to not remember how many women he's—bedded. And him having children!? Does he really have children out there somewhere? Is he a father?

Eric shakes his head and lifts his gaze to me, though my sight is still too blurry to see him clearly. "Ye still think I'm a good man?" he asks me, each word dripping with venomous hate for his past sins and for himself.

I swallow. How a man could be able to pay for women like that...Surely with his face and body he could easily woo gullible, lonely women into bed without any form of payment. He did say prostitutes and whores—just as Finn called me. Is that how Eric sees me—no, this is about Eric. Not me. Sure, he may have strayed from the honorable path in his younger years, but a man can change. Clearly he did. Sara said that Eric saved her and she saved him.

I shake my head, my tears flowing freely. "No man is bound by his past unless he chooses to be. He can change, just like you did." I sniffle hard. "You married Sara."

"Nae man is bound by his past?" He laughs bitterly. "This whole world would have to see it that way for it to be true."

His harsh words lash my heart, leaving a stinging stripe across its length. "Look around us," I say. "It's just us. We're all that's in this world right now." I reach out and grab his hands tightly even though he could easily pull his hands from mine. He makes no such move. Even though my sentiments are mostly wrong, there is some truth to them. It just depends on whose eyes we choose to see the world through. Despite my tear-filled eyes, I see that his shoulders have relaxed some. I feel it in his hands, his joints stiff, but not trembling with the need to form fists. "You married Sara."

"I paid far more for 'er body than I did for her freedom."

Another harsh lashing to my heart leaves another stripe. He bought her freedom? "You loved her, Eric. Love only comes from a good heart."

He shakes his head. "I still love 'er." Those words sting my heart. They shouldn't. Of course he still loves his dead wife. You fool, Snow. You damn, selfish fool! He pulls his hands from mine. "I didnae love 'er at first. She was a pretty lass. She drew every eye in the tavern. Her breasts, her hips, her pretty face…," he trails off. Her breasts, her hips, her pretty face? I can't help but squirm, desperate for comfort from the shame of envy forming a small lump in my heart. "She was an arousin' sight," he says. "She had eyes for me and I paid 'er with ill-gotten gold for a night. That first night with her was like any other night." He sighs and draws his legs in to sit criss-crossed. He leans forward and supports his elbows on his knees, hiding most of his face from my sight by bearing most of his back to me. "It wasnae until that mornin' that thin's...changed."

How I want to scoot forward so that I can see more than just the side of his cheek, but he bore his back to me for a reason. "What changed?" I ask.

He scoffs, shaking his broad shoulders once. "She saw my satchel, the one my mother made for me. She said it was beautiful and she asked me where I got it from. I thought it was jus' bedtalk that the prostitutes use to keep their clients' interest. I started tellin' her about my mother and…," he falls silent, lost in his earliest memories of Sara. My stomach knots. That damnable envy stings my heart. Come on, Eric...speak! Continue! I bite my lip, trying to keep myself silent. I try so hard to keep my impulse back...

"And what!?" The words fly from my mouth. I wince. Damn me! It's wrong and damn inconsiderate of me to disturb him like this! I drop my chin. "I'm sorry, I'll stop talking."

"Nae, I'd rather ye talk," he says gently. He's alright with my inconsiderate mouth? I peek up at him from under my lashes, meeting his sidelong gaze. He holds my eyes for a brief moment before looking at our burning fire outside. "We talked the whole mornin'. I'd never done that before. Neither had she. My friends had to drag me away." He chuckles at the old, sweet memory. A frown drags down my mouth, envy almost consuming my heart. What Sara and Eric had...I wish I had that with him. My skin suddenly crawls, shame and disgust for myself churning my stomach. I squirm on the boughs, searching for some shred of comfort. At least Eric is not looking at me—he lifts his head suddenly and sits up straighter, shifting the air about him. "I paid for some more nights with her. Between fuckin', we'd talk. Eventually, we started spendin' time together free of ill-gotten gold and free of fuck—"

"Please!" I say, drawing his wide eyes back to me. "I don't want to hear that word anymore. It's too…debasing."

He frowns at me. "That's what it was, lass," he says softly, so full of regret. "It changed, though. Our—" he catches himself. "She became my friend. Then my best friend. Then my love. What we did then was give ourselves to each other wholly and selflessly. It was different from all the other times we'd – laid together." A look of discomfort crosses his face, as if saying those two gentler words cut against the grain of his character.

My heart stings. "I'm sorry, but thank you for not saying that word."

He nods once. I wait for him to speak...he keeps silent, only holding my gaze.

I frown and daringly lay my hand on his strong back. "You don't have to say anymore if you don't want to."

He shakes his head. "Nae, I want to tell ye why I'm no' beddin' ye right now." His bluntness shocks me and stirs that terrible heat in my loins despite his gentler words. His eyes drift down to my mouth and linger. "Believe me, I do," he says lowly, his voice causing my stomach muscles to clench and my heart to beat chaotically. With great effort, he lifts his eyes back up to mine. "After all the shite I've given to those poor wenches and to Sara without any regard for their dignity—" He looks away suddenly, hiding his face again. "Sara was a prostitute, aye, but she made that choice because she had a wee sister and nae parents left to care for 'em."

My heart aches terribly for her. I saw the sisterly kindness in Sara in the very short time I knew her, but it never crossed my mind that she was a sister to anyone. Possibly a mother, but a sister?

He nods, not glancing back at me. "Her sister was sick from birth. Born with somethin', so Sara knew her life wouldnae be as long as she'd like it to be. Still, Sara sold herself into a brothel so she could care for her sister."

I...my God, the love Sara had. The sacrifice, the selflessness! She was always a good woman. She never strayed from that. Even when she sold herself into a brothel, she never lost her good heart in all the sin and despair. Me, though? I scoff at myself. All my lying to Eric, all my deceit, me begging Eric to—fuck me. Oh God, my stomach! I wrap one arm around my abdomen to try to settle its roiling. No, I shouldn't be touching Eric like this. I snatch my hand from his back and wring my hands together.

"The bastards who run those brothels," Eric seethes with barely contained rage, "they're no' kind to their prostitutes. They force themselves on the lasses. They beat'em for any imagined wrongdoin'. Sometimes, they'll murder 'em, especially if the lasses end up with child." Oh God. I remember Sara telling me about the night she attempted to take her own life. She mentioned how the men used her and beat her. The only thing that kept her going was her sisterhood with her fellow prostitutes.

"The—" I swallow a hard lump down my throat, my eyes burning with the need to cry again, "—the scar on her face?"

He doesn't look back at me, but he nods. Part of me wishes he would look back so that I could see his face, but the cowardly part of me is relieved that he doesn't.

"Aye." He draws in a slow, deep breath, lifting his shoulders. "She got that a year before I took her away from that fu—" he stops himself and sucks in a harsh breath "—that shitehole. The day I realized that I love Sara, I wanted to give her some kind of life! I asked her to marry me. She said nae!"

My eyes widen. "What!?"

He glances back at me, his eyes just as wide as mine. "Aye, right!? I was jus' as shocked as ye!" His wide eyes relax, something gentler shaping his face. "She said she couldnae leave her sisters."

"Her fellow prostitutes," I say.

His eyes widen again. "She told ye that?" he asks.

His eyes burn into me, making me feel as though I had no right to know that. I squirm, praying that the snow will come now and bury me. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that too—"

"Nae!" He scoots around to face me and grabs my shoulder. He frowns down at me and rubs my arm. "Sara had sharp eyes like any Taboran. She saw that yer trustworthy." Slowly, he stops rubbing my arm and he leans towards me, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. My skin tingles beneath his lips, but every other inch of me shivers. My stomach knots. If only he knew just one of my lies. God, if Greta's freedom wasn't at stake, if I could just bring myself to believe the most honest man I know, if—no, if I wasn't such a coward, I would confess everything to him now...but the fact remains that I am a coward and I don't want to lose Eric now. I will eventually. He will learn my true name. Then he will leave me. He will hate me. It's inevitable. But for now, thankfully for the excuse of Greta's freedom, I must not tell him my lies.

Eric pulls back to meet my gaze, keeping his face unbearably close. He squeezes my arm, gifting me with a brief feel of his gentle strength and care. "Sara didnae want to leave them because she brought in alot of money. She took on the most clients, so she took more of the beatin's, and the most abuse from the bastard who ran the brothel. She cared for her sisters that way."

My heart sinks so low. "That sounds like her."

He nods somberly and lets go of my arm. "Aye...and bein' the selfish arsehole I am, I went to the bastard who ran the brothel behind Sara's back and offered a price for her freedom. We settled on a price and I went out to go get the gold. I had the gold we agreed to in a week and returned." Eric leans back, giving me some much needed space. "The bastard went back on his word then. He refused to sell her for any price!"

I'm not sure I want to hear what happens next, but my sick, depraved curiosity gets the better of me. "Go on," I whisper.

He sneers at me as if I am the bastard running the brothel and holding his love prisoner. "I beat 'im. I beat 'im so much that I nearly killed 'im, but Sara got in the way."

My eyes widen, brief panic rising up. "What do you mean!?"

"She tried to pull me off him. She pleaded with me to spare that demon. I heard her, but I refused to listen. She had to wrap her arms around my throat to stop me."

I shake my head. "Why would she try to strangle you to spare the life of the very man keeping all her sisters prisoner!?"

His face falls into something truly heartrending. "The bastard who ran the brothel had brothers, and his brothers ran their own brothels in nearby towns. When I beat him up, I drew his brothers' wrath on Sara and her sisters."

My jaw loses strength and falls. An ache unlike any other I have felt strangles my heart.

"It would've been far worse for her sisters if Sara had no' stopped me. None of them were murdered, but all of them were lashed, beaten, raped, whate'er those delvirs wanted to do to them. Sara…" He tries to speak, but no sound leaves his mouth. He slowly closes his mouth and looks down. For a moment, nothing but bitterness, regret, and grief hang in the space between us. No matter how much I silently will him to look at me, he refuses. The gold light of the fire burns behind him, casting most of him in darkness. It's flames crackle and pop on the charring logs. Thud. One log must have broke beneath its weight and hit the snow.

"Sara begged me to leave after she got me off that bastard...so I left. I couldnae stay away, so I came back that night. I found her – I heard her first. She was in pain. I followed her sounds to a dark alley. She was thrown there by someone, a few broken bones, blood mixed with mud and shite and piss and naked, left for the rats to eat her." Oh my God...the rats did eat her. The rats...and me.

"I picked her up and took her to Torrance. He helped me clean her up, give her somethin' for her pain, mend her bones and her wounds, but some of the wounds...they stayed with her for the rest of her life." He shakes his head and lifts his sorry, bitter gaze to me. "Can ye believe that after all that, she forgave me and we finally got married in some dingy wee temple devoted to her maker?" He chuckles softly, his gaze on me but not really on me. I swear, I can almost see the bittersweet memory in his eyes.

I can just see Sara standing there on the altar of some dark, dingy temple before a statue of our maker and the old priest. The temple walls are made of black stone and the floors are just old spruce wood. Thick spider webs cling to the rafters and fill every crack and crevice in the stones. It's no temple of the nobles, but rather built for and kept by the common folk. It lacks the pristine condition and the beautiful stained glass of a noble's temple. Her frock is nothing to bat an eye at. It's plain and lacking that brilliant white, most of its silver embroidery missing because many of the former brides who wore the dress pulled a thread out to keep for themselves, though Sara is too good to steal a piece of silver thread from the dress. Despite the poor surroundings and her worn dress, there she still stands beaming up at her husband-to-be, looking too beautiful and innocent to have lived the life she has lived before this moment. And there Eric stands opposite her returning her true smile with his own handsome grin. He towers over her with his foreign stature, nothing intimidating about him, though, but rather a man who wants nothing more than to protect and cherish his one love for the rest of his days and even beyond his last breath. He too, is not dressed in any fanciful attire, but rather just some clean leather trousers, his boots and the cleanest, whitest shirt he has.

"Lass?" Eric asks me. I blink the straggling tears from my eyes, clearing my sight of the man sitting before me. He looks down at me, his eyes sad, his mouth frowning. He wants me to say something.

I clear my throat, my mind coming up with the safest, most general thing that I can say. "She had a few years of happiness at least, and you gave her that." I force a smile for him.

Something glints in his eyes, but he blinks once, washing away that little glint. "It's really late. I'll finish the fish." He turns abruptly and crawls out of our tree well. He stands up outside of our tree well, stretches his back out, and crouches before the fire.

I watch him while he filets the sides off my poor fish and roasts the pink meat over the fire. That little glint in his eyes...it must have been a tear. But for what? Sara spoke of Eric in her cell as if she was leaving behind a happy life. Sure, they had their difficulties, but they seem to have overcome all that when they got married. After all the hell that they've both known, a little starvation and famine would be nothing to them, especially with Eric being a hunter. At least he has not left me hungry yet. I must be missing something, but what? Could it...could it be children?

My heart nearly bursts open with the pain. I clutch at my chest, trying to make it look like I am hugging myself for warmth. Eric never mentioned children. Nor did Sara. Perhaps...perhaps it was the lack of them. I've no doubt that Sara would have loved to be a mother.

"Here," Eric says, shattering my terrible pondering. He turns halfway and reaches into the tree well, a slab of dull, pink fish meat in his hand. "Eat," he says, his eyes hard with the order.

I frown at him and take the meat, the meat hard and wonderfully warm, but not hot. To humor the man, I take a meager bite out of the meat and chew once. The fishy taste immediately leaks out of the crushed meat like stale oil. A strong need to gag rises in the back of my throat, but I quickly swallow the bite down my throat.

"UGH!" I wash my tongue about my mouth, trying in vain to get the revolting taste out of my mouth!

Eric laughs hard, grating against my nerves. "Is it that bad!?" He takes a bite out of his slab of meat.

I shudder at the sight of him eating fish. "Yes, it's that bad!" I say. He only laughs harder while he chews slowly, disgusting, loud mushing sounds leaving his mouth. Mush. Mush. Mush. I cannot take it! I clasp my hand over his mouth, his beard pricking my hand like tiny needles. His eyes widen. The sight of my hand trying to cover his mouth—we both burst into laughter.

We laugh for a sweet moment and allow it to fade on its own. As it does, I take my hand from his mouth and warn him, "Chew with your mouth closed!"

He raises his brows at me, a big, toothy grin on his mouth. "I will, but only if ye eat yer fish!"

"Fine!" I look down at my fish, my smile vanishing at the thought of having to take another bite of this.

"Ye matter to me," Eric says suddenly, snapping my eyes up to him.

My brows furrow, my heart going to the edge. "What?"

The last of his smile leaves him. "That's why I willnae bed ye tonight, nae matter how much my body disagrees."

Hot blood rushes up my neck and floods my cheeks. "Oh," I whisper. He did say he was telling me about Sara so that he could explain why he is refusing me this night. I suppose his message got lost in all the emotions of telling me about his past with Sara. But I matter to him? That's different from him saying that he cares about me. Perhaps it means more! Guilt wraps its clutches about my heart. This...no, I cannot accept his heart! "Eric—"

"Ye dinnae have to say it again! I know!" He looks at me for a moment, so much in his eyes that I cannot discern it all. "I…," he shakes his head, "...what ye want from me...it can be more."

A surge of joy and panic both rush me, battering me from two different sides. "No!—"

"I'm no' askin' ye to marry me! I'm no' askin' for yer heart." He frowns and drops his gaze to my chest. He reaches out and grabs my hand sheltering my heart, pulling it away from my chest. He lets go of me and presses his hand upon my heart. "I'm only askin' that ye dinnae cut this off from me." He lifts his gaze to me, his eyes so open and earnest and burning with desire. "All I'm askin' is that we see where we go."

"We?" I ask, my brows furrowing. I think I know what he means by we, but he could mean something else entirely.

His frown deepens. "Yer tryin' to make this hollow. Yer a good lass and ye deserve better than some," he nods down to the boughs beneath me, "ruttin' on a pile of dead branches out in the cold! There's a town two days from here. Vilgard. Let me take ye there—"

"We can't go into town! Our faces are surely etched on posters all across Tabor! They'll recognize us!"

He shakes his head and takes his hand from my chest. "Vilgard is a wee town with no' much in it. It's so insignificant that the hag queen barely bats an eye at it. We keep our hoods up, they willnae recognize us. Even if they did, I doubt they'd turn us in." He shrugs. "There's an inn there that I like. The owner's a bit of a bastard and a shite cook, but he keeps the ale flowin'. I'm sure he'll have a room there that we can stay the night in."

I shake my head at him. "We don't have any gold," I remind him glumly.

"We have these." He bobs his fish meat in his hand. "The tavern keeper would happily trade us a room for one of our catches."

I sigh. "So, we go to Vilgard and get a room for the night. Then…," I trail off, sinful visions flooding my mind. My heart beats harder and that damn sinful lust burns in my loins.

A small, knowing grin tugs at his lips. "We'll see what hap—" I crush my mouth to his, earning his surprised, half muffled yelp. I move my lips against his stunned mouth with what little I have learned today. I should cut off my heart from him so as to spare his heart, but I cannot ignore the spark of excitement in the far corner that grows, feeding well from this selfish kiss. Eric regains some sense and tries to pull back from me, but I catch his upper lip between mine and graze my bottom teeth along his lip. He surges against me like a tidal wave, almost knocking me onto my back, but my hand shoots out behind me and catches me upon the boughs, the dead pine needles poking my hand. I wince from the sharp stings, but I relish in his attention all the same. The thought that he wants more from me than just the pleasure of my flesh, that he cares about me, that I matter to him...it's almost enough to convince me that perhaps by the slimmest chance, if Eric and I play all our cards just right without any error, I might have what Sara once had with him. Not the love nor the sadness, but a few years of happiness. Could it...is that possible? How could we ever find happiness with Ravenna pursuing me? We would constantly be on the run. No matter how far we'd go, I'm certain it would not be far enough.

Eric grabs the back of my neck and urges me to open up our kiss. I do so, willing him to do as he wills. The tip of his tongue slips past my teeth. Feeling his tongue slowly venture farther into my mouth, tentatively testing my limits, sets my blood blazing. My chest constricts and my thighs clench together, begging for his hips to be tucked between them again. Damn it! I know his reasons for holding back! I know them, but I barely comprehend them. Perhaps if I did understand them, I would find the strength to pull back and admit every single truth to him. I am weak and a coward, though, and I'm fearful that Finn will find us before morning comes by the powers Ravenna wields. Eric suddenly tears his lips from mine, leaving us both heaving and desperate! I force my eyes open, meeting his dark gaze.

He looks down at me, distraught. "Ye've got to stop grabbin' me like that. I'm no' sure I'll be able to stop myself next time."

My lungs start to cool with the steady return of my breathing. My heart twists with what I'm about to say. It's not right by any means. He wants to be the better man and not give into his lust right now. He wants to give me better than this damn tree well, but I don't need that! I only need him. "Why stop yourself!? I won't—"

"Because I willnae do to ye what I did to those poor lasses...and to Sara." He takes his hand from the back of my neck and drops back onto his heels, so much burning in his eyes. The fish meat he clutches in one hand seems so insignificant, yet I see it there. "I dinnae want to become myself again. It's a self I dinnae care for."

My heart sinks like a rock to the bottom of Delaney Lake. So that's why he is holding back? He doesn't want to taste of his old ways again...for fear of slipping back into them? I'm not sure how he could even think himself capable of going back to paying for prostitutes after everything he has been through with Sara. My mouth opens, ready to ask him this, but I stop myself. If I have one good bone in my body, I would not keep questioning him and pushing him to do what he firmly believes will lead him down the wrong path again. But it does beg the question—why is Vilgard the right place to do this? Why not here? What is the difference between now and two days from now? Atop a stiff bed packed with dead straw or atop these dead, prickly boughs? Then again, he never really said what we would do in Vilgard. He said that we'll see where we go. There's no promises. No guarantees.

Eric sighs and gestures to the fish meat still clutched in my hand, the meat now cool. "Eat, then try to get some sleep." He turns suddenly and crawls out of our tree well. He stands up outside of the tree well, stretches his back, and trudges through the snow around our fire. He picks a spot before the fire that has a thick bough obscuring my sight of him and he sits down, hiding himself from me.

I frown, but I force myself to eat as much of this disgusting trout meat as I can tolerate. Somehow, despite all the grimacing and the dreadful, oily, fishy aftertaste it leaves in the back of my throat, I manage to scarf down the whole thing. I find it's better to bite off small pieces and swallow them whole than to chew it. Regardless of how revolting this trout is, it does take the edge from my hunger.

The fire outside pops, pops, pops amidst its crackling. I peek out from the boughs, spying Eric poking at the flames with his stick again. I allow my eyes to travel up his arms to his face. My heart aches at the sight of him. He looks into the flames, something forlorn dimming his eyes and dragging down the corners of his mouh. He's not focused on the flames. He's probably not even aware of the icy, dark world surrounding him on all sides. He is somewhere else entirely...like a ghost forgotten on this earth who is trapped in a never ending remembrance of his sorrows and regrets.

My legs bounce and my heart lurches forward, instinct begging me to go comfort him, but I stay in this tree well. I went to comfort him last night, but that was before today happened. God, it hardly seems like it was just last night, but it was. A lot can happen in one day. Even more can happen in one evening.

My eyes drift down to his hands. He burned them last night while battling Maacthis—a fight that never ends no matter how light the attack becomes. I do not need my lamia balm for my throat anymore, nor do I feel any need for it on my back wound. That has not bothered me for a few days now, even though I have been forgetting to apply it to my wound as Eliza instructed me to. Eric can use the balm for his burns. I toss the flap of my satchel back and root through it, finding the little box of lamia balm.

I swallow and peek at Eric. He's poking at the flames, still lost in his past regrets and sorrows. Steeling every nerve I have, I crawl out of the tree well and stop as close beside him as I dare to.

Eric's eyes shift to me, the dim sadness slowly leaving them. He frowns at me. "Ye should be sleepin'."

I frown at him in turn and show him the box of lamia balm. "How are your burns?"

He snorts and shakes his head. "Save yer balm for a time we'll actually need it." He turns his head back to the fire. "How's yer wound here?" He reaches behind himself and pats the middle of his back just to the right of his spine.

I sigh. "It doesn't hurt anymore." Frustration starts nipping at me. "Eric, don't be so stubborn—"

"I'm no' bein' stubborn! My burns are fine!" he snaps, startling me. Why the sudden anger? Or perhaps it was only a brief outburst of frustration? His face softens. "They're almost healed. See?" He holds his empty hand out to me, palm up. I glance down at his hand. Just as he said, his skin looks almost as pale as mine, no hint of any burn from last night.

"Hm," I hum, my cheeks warming with embarrassment. "You're right." I look down at my satchel and stow my lamia balm in it. If we both could forget this moment of my stupidity, I'd be grateful, but that will never happen.

Eric sighs, tickling my tingling, chilled ears. He tosses his poking stick into the flames and rises to his full stature, drawing my eyes up to him against my will. I watch him as he circles around the fire to our packs and skis. He stoops down and slings all the packs onto his back and picks up our skis.

My brows furrow, something unsettling stirring in my gut. "Eric?" I ask, though his name comes out of me as silence. I watch him as he ambles through the snow to the opening of our tree well, my body on high alert, my mind going to the worst places. I can foresee him strapping on his skis and skiing off into the night with my skis and all his packs, leaving me here alone in this bitter, dark winter with a fire that will only burn for half the night.

"S'cuse me, lass." He gently nudges his boot into my bottom, urging me to move away from the opening of our tree well. I frown up at him, but I scoot around the fire. I watch him crouch before the opening of our tree well and stow our skis, our skiing poles, and all our packs inside the tree well. My body calms a little while I try to think this over reasonably. If he was leaving me now, surely he would have just strapped on his skis and skied away. Why would he put all our supplies inside the tree well if he intends to leave?

Eric glances back at me and frowns. "What's wrong?"

I swallow hard, my eyes stinging with the need to weep. "What are you doing?"

His brows furrow some, looking confused. "If we leave our packs and skis out and it snows tonight, they'll get buried and we'll lose 'em. C'mon." He holds his hand out to me. My gut twists with a small warning as I accept his hand. My mouth parts, the words almost escaping my tongue, but I stop them. I've asked him so many times if he is going to abandon me or not, and his answer is always the same. It will do no good to ask now.

He frowns deeper at me while he pulls me towards the opening to our tree well. "If ye need to take a piss in the night, wake me and let me know. I dinnae want ye to get lost out here."

I shake my head at him with silent reprove, my ears buzzing from his crude mouth, but he makes his point well enough. "Alright."

He smirks at me and helps me clamber down into our tree well. He releases my hand and crawls in beside me, effectively trapping me between a wall of our packs and skis and his solid body. He reaches over me and grabs my deer pelt hanging out of his rucksack.

"Lie down." He wraps an arm around me and pulls me down with him on the boughs, my whole backside tucked into his front. I shiver against him and hug myself, feeling every inch of his lap pressing against my bottom. It may just be me, but I think this position is more purposeful than necessary. My heart flutters. My loins clench and burn, begging me to arch my bottom into him. I refrain easily out of shyness and fear. I draw my knees up to my chest while he drapes the deer pelt over both of us, putting enough space between his lap and my bottom so that I don't feel anything. He lays his strong arm over me, letting me feel the heaviness of his arm.

"Ye know what I miss more than the blue sky?" Eric says, slipping his other arm under my head, propping my head up and easing the tension in my neck. He...is giving me a place to rest my head. I've never had someone do this before. Never.

"Sara?" I ask him.

"Ah," he groans above me, awkwardness coming from him. "That's no' where I was goin' with this."

"Oh." I squirm, feeling just as awkward as him. Perhaps more so. "I'm sorry."

"Dinnae apologize!" He tightens his protective arm about me, pulling me closer.

I sigh. "Please, tell me where you were going with this then." Our shared warmth beneath the deer pelt starts to envelope me, making my skin tingle. I think this pelt is more on me than it is on him.

He snorts above me. "I miss the birds singin'."

A twinge fills my heart. I had completely forgotten about the birds. I remember before Ravenna usurped my father's throne how the birds heralded every coming day with their chirping, but that...I suppose their chirping was so small and insignificant to everything else going on around me that I never noticed when it stopped. I noticed the dark clouds never went away. I noticed that water no longer felt wet. Most of all, I sensed the death permeating the air and the land. I sensed Ravenna draining the life from it much like she did to that apple blossom. The birds...I never realized that they were gone until now. I can't tell Eric this! That may make him believe I am truly evil. If anything, it will make him feel alone. I can't outright lie to him, though. I've lied enough.

"Are there birds in the north? Where you're from?" There, I'm not lying and I'm also not making myself seem so selfish. I did save that sparrow once. I couldn't stand to let that poor bird get crushed beneath the wagon wheel.

"As far as I still know, aye. The wee ones sing and the big ones screech." He chuckles dryly. "The big ones swoop down and snatch the wee ones to eat."

I shudder at the thought. "The poor wee ones."

He chuckles, stealing away the awkwardness between us and changing the air to something slightly sad but mostly sweet. I join his chuckling for the last few beats before it ebbs.

"Someone else's food can sing pretty enough," he says with amusement.

"Tsk!" I laugh and gently nudge him with my elbow. "You're terrible!" He only laughs in response. I quiet my laughter quickly and allow myself to savor the laughter rumbling in his chest.

His laughter dies quicker than I wish it to. "Do ye miss the birds?" he asks me softly.

"I…" Do I miss the birds? I can't say that I do or don't if I never noticed that they were gone until now. The only birds that really mattered to me was that poor sparrow that I saved and nursed back to health and Ravenna's two ravens that would come and visit her every morning, Corbin and Ava. God, part of me wishes I could tell Eric the whole truth of this matter, but there's no telling how that will make him see me then. I know he says he won't leave me. For a brief time, I believed him. But now, especially after learning about Casieal and Gyal'ack and how the demons were once human...the way he said with such revulsion that the hating ones welcomed evil into their hearts, much like I did...no, I cannot risk telling him that I don't really miss the birds. As much as it pains me, I must lie. Gratefully, I can lie with the comforting knowledge that I am doing so for Greta's sake.

"I do miss the birds," I lie, my voice quivering and my eyes burning.

He sighs. "I'm assumin' their absence has somethin' to do with that old hag?"

Ravenna, he means. I shake my head, a few tears escaping my eyes. "She drained their life from them like she's draining the life from this land, I'm sure. I'm surprised there were any fish in that lake."

"She probably disnae know of it."

My heart sinks. "She'll find it soon, then." Damn, how did this take such a depressing turn!? Were we not just laughing and jesting a moment ago?

"Maybe no'," he says, hopeful. It's a foolish thing to hope for...but perhaps not necessarily a false hope. "Do ye think the birds will ever come back? Is there a way to bring them back?"

"Pff!" I scoff. "What makes you think I know the answer to that!?"

"Ye know more about Ravenna than anyone I know. I assumed that'd ye know, or at least have a guess."

My heart aches with another pang of guilt. "I'm sorry...Sara said that this kingdom is dying, not the world." My heart hurts more, the thought of my home dying...will I die before my home or will it die before me?

Eric tightens his arm about me more, pulling me close enough to press my bottom against his lap again. "I'm no' sure how true that is anymore, lass. Aye, it's the worst here, but this evil is reachin' across many lands now, seekin' to destroy all that is good."

My eyes widen. "What!?" My God, he speaks as though the devil himself is trying to claim this earth as his own kingdom. "You must be wrong!"

"I wish I was."

I shake my head, wanting to not believe him. I don't understand. How come I don't believe him when he tells me something good, but when he shares some terrible words with me, I find myself accepting it as truth? "Then there must be more out there like Ravenna."

"Many more." He tightens his arm about me.

My heart threatens to chase away the last glimmer of hope that Sara had given me. No, I don't want to lose it! I held onto it for two years! I escaped hell with it! To lose it now? "There must be something we can do!" I plead with him. "You sense evil! You can push it away!"

"I get ye to Hammond's alive and well, that's what we can do. Like I said, evil surrounds someone like it does ye when that person can bring about a great deal of good."

My chest constricts. Is he right? Or is he more wrong than he can ever imagine and the evil that surrounds me is because it's the evil that I welcomed into my heart? As much as I loathe to remember that fateful night, I remember Maacthis' warning to Ravenna before she performed that hellish ritual and shared her power with me. "She is the answer to a prayer being uttered by hundreds of thousands at this moment." A prayer for deliverance from Ravenna's tyranny, no doubt. It'd be foolish to believe that God would answer such a loud prayer. He has never answered a single prayer of mine. Why would he start now? Hell, he's probably dead now and that's why he hasn't answered any prayers! Perhaps he never even existed.

"Try to sleep," Eric says above me.

Hearing those words reminds me just how exhausted I am. Swathed in soothing warmth, held in his gentle strength, enveloped in his safety though it is fleeting, all this with a satisfied stomach? It helps soothe all my sore muscles. Despite my doubts of Eric, I am almost certain that he will not abandon me tonight. I gave him no cause to...that I know of.

Soon enough, the black abyss grabs me and pulls me under, pretending to bid me a sweet welcome, though it is dragging me away as its prisoner. I very well could wake up in the morning to find myself alone.