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.

21. Chapter 21 The Wolves' Howl

Chapter 21 The Wolves' Howl

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"You will die here, little bitch!" Finn curses me, slamming my cell door shut and locking me up with the jiggling keys. He marches off, his footsteps growing softer until the wood door slams shut—My eyes fly open. BUBUM,BUBUM,BUBUM,BUBUM in my ears! I go to sit up, but a heavy log is draped across me, keeping me pinned down!—Wait. This heavy log is draped over me too perfectly to be a log. Whatever it is, it is molded over me, almost holding me...protectively. I can't help my breathing, my lungs sucking in precious, frigid air and expelling it quicker than I can count. This...this is an arm draped over me. There is also a warm, bear-sized body at my back. I know this body.

"Tree well," I whisper all that I know is about me. I pull my hand out of the pocket of warm air and reach out, pressing my fingertips against some icy leather. It's not alive. I press my hand against the leather more fully and gingerly pat along it. "Pack," I whisper, my mind turning to the heavy arm still trapping me here. I snatch my hand from the pack and grab the chilled leather sleeve covering the arm. With a trembling hand, I drag my hand down to the bear-sized hand, feeling the back of its chilled flesh. The skin is rough and familiar, the fingers long and thick-boned, the joints a little too swollen for their years from an arduous life.

"Eric," I murmur. Saying that name aloud brings the calm and peace that I so desperately need, soothing my panicking heart and quelling the fire in my lungs. I let go of a difficult, shuddering breath and carefully slip my fingers between his, doing my best to not wake him. His fingers twitch between mine and curl some. Oh no, did I wake him!? I wait in deathly silence for anymore stirring from him...His fingers do not tighten anymore. No, if I had woken him, he would have moved his hand so that his hand would be shielding mine. I sigh with relief. This is good. For once, I want to shield his hand from the cold and protect him. My heart softens and aches. Just once, I want to keep him safe even if it is such a trivial and silly way to do so.

I turn my head as much as my tight scarf will allow me, blackness greeting me wherever I look. I swallow hard. A nagging fear creeps into the back of my mind. Is there something lurking about in that dark searching for food? Most hunting animals come out at night, right? Though I have yet to see any wildlife aside from the oulinders we encountered in that dark forest and the trout Eric and I fished out from under the frozen lake. Perhaps they're all hibernating. Perhaps they do not want to expend unnecessary energy hunting during the night...or perhaps Ravenna has killed them all, too. A nasty, guilt-ridden pang enters my heart. Tabor used to have such an abundance of life. There were so many different kinds of deer that they were a nuisance to our farms. With all the deer came many different wolves and nightcats, from the biggest and most menacing to the smallest and most docile. With the abundance of everything, both meat and fruit, large white bears from the north and many small black bears from the south came and lived side by side. The abundance was so rich that there was rarely any fighting between them, but rather plenty of crossmating that led to beautiful, midsized, speckled and spotted bears. Those are all gone now by the look, sound, and feel of the land. With all the animals that are gone, so are all the birds...the birds that Eric misses—a faint scraping sound enters my ears. My body stiffens and I hold my breath. My ears tingle with their increased sensitivity. The scraping sound is rhythmic, purposeful, and there are many scrapes coming from behind me, drawing closer quickly. My God. My God! That's the scraping of claws along the snow! Quick, fast claws. Not the heavy ones of a bear, but the charging ones of a lighter animal, and many of them!

The scraping draws closer. My heart pounds hard and fast in my chest. My arms and legs start shaking uncontrollably. Eric! Does he not hear this!?

"Eric!?" I whisper harshly and shake his hand. He hums, stirring against me, but he grows still with sleep again! "Eric, wake up!" I whisper. My ears pick up the scraping of claws surrounding us on both sides and circling about our tree! I fight against his heavy arm, managing to sit myself up this time against his strength. His hand tightens about mine suddenly and he pulls me back down!

"Er!—" He covers my mouth with his hand, silencing me. My ears burn with the sound of many animals circling about us, huffing and panting like dogs. No, like wolves!

"Shh," Eric whispers close to my ear and slowly removes his hand from my mouth. "Wolves with delvir souls." My eyes grow impossibly wide. "Stay quiet. Take this." He shifts against me and slides the chilly haft of his hatchet into my hand! Panic shoots through my stomach, but I tighten my hand about the haft so tightly. Eric doesn't have to say it. These wolves with delvir souls—whatever that means—will attack us. We must work together.

"We can't see," I whisper calmly despite all the panicking and screaming inside me.

Eric sits up briskly, silently. "I'm gettin' the fire," he whispers. I lift my head and look at the entrance of our tree well—where I thought it was! I look all around, but then I hear the faint rustling of the boughs. Suddenly, a strip of dim light appears. More dim white light joins that. Eric must have sealed off the entrance to our tree well with more boughs from the pine while I slept. I watch his shadow move as silent as death, yet I hear every single wolf trotting around us, growling here and there, huffing, sniffing. They smell us. They know we're here. Not just that, but I sense that these wolves with delvir souls are not normal wolves. No, I am certain that these wolves were sent by Ravenna. A chill unlike anything I've felt before courses down my spine.

Eric stays within the tree well while he reaches out and plays with the barely glowing embers of our fire. With some poking about, he manages to get the fire smoldering. Dark movement draws my eyes past the billowing smoke. Distant shadows dart by the opening of our tree well, some larger and louder, some smaller and quieter, but all their claws scrape along the snow in their rhythmic trotting. Some huff and pant. Some growl.

The crackling of the fire starts and grows. A small flame starts beneath the charred branches and mounts higher, crackling louder and spreading more of its light. Relief hits me, but it's short-lived when I see the white flash of their eyes as they pass by the entrance, then the flash of their snarling teeth and the speckled grey and white of their coats.

One of the wolves stops a half stone's throw right in the dead center of our tree well entrance and turns his body, facing us head on, his eyes burning whitehot in the flames. Very slowly, Eric moves like death while he starts climbing out of our tree well, his hatchet in one hand and a flaming torch in the other.

"Eric!" I whisper, my empty hand shooting out to grab him, but he's too quick for me as he stands up outside of our tree well, blocking the entrance with his body! I scramble to the side so that I can still see everything that transpires. Despite sinking into the snow almost up to his knees, Eric towers so much over the wolf that the wolf must lift his head to see Eric. The wolf peels back his glistening lips, bearing his large, yellowed fangs, his lips trembling with a growl. The thick scruff of the wolf's neck bristles. He barks suddenly, jolting me with the snap of his jaws.

A short howl sounds to my left, then a harsh bark to my right. A few more wolves stop behind the lead wolf, taking up positions about Eric and our tree well. All around us, the wolf pack becomes more raucous, snarling, growling, and barking.

"GO AWAY!" Eric shouts suddenly, jolting me. Sara's words hit me. He's afraid of the wolves.

Eric shouts something else, sounding like words, but they're harsh and foreign, almost sounding like the grunting and roaring of a bear. The sight hits me hard. I've never seen conflict between bears and wolves before, but I often heard about it in stories. Wolves and bears, both strong, but in their own ways. Both the apex predators of their worlds locked in an eternal war for dominance. Victory for one side or the other is often unknown until the fight is done. Half the time, the bear will kill two or three members of the wolf pack and send the rest away with their tails between their legs. The other half of the time, the wolves will overwhelm the bear with their sheer numbers and kill him with multiple wounds, eventually causing the bear to bleed out despite his thick hide.

I look about, my eyes and ears feeling sharper than they ever have. There's the lead wolf, bigger than the others, facing Eric head on. Both of their eyes are locked on each other, each sizing the other up. Backing up the lead wolf are two smaller wolves emulating their leader by bristling their necks and bearing their teeth. I hear several more wolves to my right, several more to my left, and a few behind me. My only defense against them are the low hanging boughs and the thick snow. Like that'll do me much good! All they have to do is dig their way in here! Regardless, there must be at least nine wolves, but maybe more than a dozen!

Despair tries to claim me, but I fight it. Despair alone will kill me—and will kill Eric!

"STAY IN THE WELL, LASS!" Eric says, brandishing his torch. "WATCH YER SIDES AND BACK!"

A mounting growl is the only warning as a wolf leaves the alpha's side and lunges at Eric!

"LOOK OUT!—" Eric swings his hatchet in a blur, striking the wolf and bringing him down to the snow with a loud thud. The wolf whimpers and squeals and kicks his legs in a struggle to free himself from under the hatchet's crushing blow, but Eric rips his hatchet out of the wolf's bloodsoaked neck and brings it down on the wolf in two swift swings, severing the wolf's head from his shoulders. Another wolf lunges onto Eric's back!

"ERIC!" I scream. He thrusts the bottom of his hatchet into the wolf's side and rolls over, the quick snaps and the high-pitched squeal of the wolf confirming that Eric has crushed a few of the wolf's bones beneath his weight. I watch in awe as Eric lands on his foot and opposite knee and brings his hatchet down on the exposed underside of the broken wolf, splitting his chest open in a fleshly cracking of bone. Eric...he's caught in the deadcenter of the pack, vulnerable from every side except his front!

Two wolves lunge at Eric from two different sides. He catches one with the swing of his hatchet, but the other closes his maws right around Eric's arm! Eric cries out much like a hurting bear and thrusts the flame of his torch to the wolf's face, burning the wolf's eyes and muzzle. The wolf howls in pain and tears his jaws from Eric, crimson dripping from his teeth and onto the white snow! How I want to climb out of this tree well and help Eric fend off these wolves, but he said—crunch, cruNCH, CRUNCH in the snow! Not Eric's boots nor mine! Eric, trapped on one knee, swings his hatchet up and blocks another hatchet coming down on him! I can't take my eyes from the new hatchet, the new hand, and the bare arm! A man, not Eric, yells something similar to Eric's harsh, biting tongue. It sounds different enough from Eric's tongue, but I hear the man curse, "Ursus!"

Eric snarls in response and yells something back in his native tongue. He pushes back against the man with impressive strength, managing to rise to his feet. Another wolf lunges onto Eric's back while he fights off the new man! God, I can't take hiding anymore!—Bark! right behind me! I wheel around, coming face to face with a snarling wolf wiggling his way deeper into the tree well! I scream and swing Eric's hatchet at the wolf's face, slicing the wolf across his snout. The wolf yelps and scrambles back out of the tree well, leaving a gaping hole!

I grab Eric's rucksack and try to drag it over to block the hole, but it's so heavy!—A growl and a quick flash of movement halts me, my eyes fixed on the gaping hole. Another wolf thrusts his head into the hole! I try to scramble from those snarling, dripping fangs, but the wolf catches my right arm in his jaws! I scream just before I feel the crushing pain shooting up my arm and shoulder and the warm rush of blood seeping out of my wounds. I go to swing Eric's hatchet at the wolf, but the wolf yanks his head back, yanking my arm and me with him! POP. Intense pain blooms in my shoulder and pulses down my arm and up my neck! I cannot contain the other scream that claws its way out of my throat.

The wolf drags me out of the warmth of the tree well and into the biting cold. I scream and kick furiously, still clinging tightly to Eric's hatchet in my left hand. I hear more than see two wolves on either side of me, snarling and growling. Despite the intense pain in my shoulder, instinct tells me to flip over onto my stomach. I grit my teeth and flip myself over just as the wolf pulls the rest of me out of the tree well, causing another sharp wave of consuming, nearly blinding pain to rip through my arm and up my neck. I barely manage to look up, seeing the unnatural twist of my arm still held captive in the wolf's crimson soaked jaws. I can't feel my hand.

"GRETA!?" Eric calls out from the other side of the tree well.

"ERIC!" I cry back, unable to say anymore, but only scream. A growing growl fills my left ear—a pair of claws hook onto my left shoulder, though I see it out of my periphery more than feel it. I try to not let the wolves flip me back over, but they pull me onto my back with little effort despite my kicking. Through all this, I see the third wolf coming over me, his front paws pressing heavily into my chest. I swing Eric's hatchet as best I can, using the weight of the hatchet to pry my left shoulder free of the wolf's claws and land a direct blow to the other wolf's flank, burying the blade deep enough to draw blood. The wolf yelps and hops off me, whimpering as he backs away with his tail between his legs. I arc the hatchet back, aiming for the wolf still holding my right arm—a strong hand grabs my left arm, stopping me! I yelp with surprise and look up the arm at the—snarling man!? The last of the wolf hairs shrink and disappear into the skin of his cheeks, yet he snarls and bears almost every semblance—to the wolf he just was! How is this possible!? A wolf turning into a man!? Man into wolf!? Skoll. Eric told me about the boy who wanted to be a wolf. Is this Skoll sneering down at me, his teeth unusually sharp for a man?

He says something in his harsh native tongue. I don't know what he is saying, but I know that he's cursing me. His black eyes go to Eric's hatchet still clenched in my fist. Despair washes over me. There's no way I'll be able to hold onto Eric's hatchet. With his free hand, he grabs the haft of Eric's hatchet above my hand and pulls hard!

"NO!" I cling to Eric's hatchet so tightly that the sharp stings of splinters bury beneath my fingernails, but the wolfman tears Eric's hatchet from me in one swift movement. His black eyes shift back to mine, flashing white in an invisible fire. Those eyes, burning with rage, with hatred, with pure evil—all of that for me. A glint of light pulls my unwilling eyes down to his nose, a deep gash in the middle of it—the wound I inflicted on him.

"Yer heart...now!" he snarls, drawing my eyes back to him. Tears surge in my eyes and burn them. The wolfman raises Eric's hatchet high above me.

William and I laughing, climbing to the top of my favorite apple tree, feeling so happy, smelling the apple blossoms and apples. Wandering down the bustling halls, feeling so alone. Saving the little sparrow, a month of feeding and watering him, watching him fly away free. Seeing my father yawn, seeing him asleep at his desk, sitting in his lap while he explains the importance of leadership and sacrifice for his people. Seeing my mother ill, yelling at her, angry with her for waiting too long to tell us, seeing and feeling the aching heart my mother endured the night I sent her away from my room—the night she died. Standing there with papa at mama's funeral, holding back the tears like I must do, though I'm cold, empty, crying inside. Ravenna comes to me, reads me books, teaches me how to read, how to write, comforts me, encourages me to cry, to feel grief over mama so that I can heal. She shows me the apple blossom, teaches me about her power. Wessel goes to war, hearing that he deserted the army, a lofty price set for his capture, the sting of betrayal. The ringing of swords, the screams of women and children, darkness, papa lying there dying, pleading with me to not welcome such evil into my heart, the poor dwarf's sight leaving him, the pain in his chest, the pain in my chest, the weakness, the despair, papa's disappointment and fear for me, for the evil which I have so eagerly welcomed into my heart. The cold cell, Sara's smiling face, her cracking bones, her determination, her last thoughts for Eric, her ring in my hand, running, promising Greta her freedom, running, falling, Eric grabbing me in the dark, snarling at me, then mocking and scoffing me, then frowning, then holding me, supporting me, even praising me. Eliza's smile, the darkness coming over Geoffrey's face as he pulls the floor back over us. Little Gwen cries, her innocence, little Ben crying, his sweet laughter, the weight of him upon my back, the confusion and hurt by Louis' disdain and rejection of him. Eric embraces me, then he smiles at me, laughs with me, and kisses me, fighting for me, protecting me, giving me hope, a taste of freedom, wanting my heart, to preserve it, to safeguard it, unaware of the evil lurking within it, deceived and lied to, hurting from losing Sara, stung by my refusal, stung by me keeping my heart from him.

A whole life, here and gone with one blink of my eyes. The wolfman brings the hatchet down—another hatchet flies into its path, stopping the blade an inch from my chest! My eyes dart to the force that just came between me and death. Eric hovers over me, bearing a vicious look at the stark naked wolfman, blood trickling down the side of his face from several clawlike lacerations down his temple.

Eric yells something at the man in his tongue. The wolfman shouts something back in his tongue, each cursing the other. Eric moves suddenly, thrusting something up into the wolfman's throat. The wolfman chokes. Crimson starts flowing down his throat and over Eric's fist. The jaws about my right arm release me. My eyes dart back to the wolf at my head—who is now a naked man. He pulls a knife from the only belt around his bare waist and arcs it back, aiming for Eric!

"BEHIND YOU!—" The last wolfman drives the knife deep into Eric's back, up to the hilt, drawing a shout of pain from Eric that stings my ears and lashes my heart. I scream, horror, panic, fear, and pain coursing through me. Eric turns in the blink of my eyes, pulling the small knife out of the dead wolfman and thrusting it into the last wolfman's throat. The wolfman chokes and splutters on his own blood. His heart beats its last. Eric doesn't move, doesn't pull his knife out of the wolfman's throat. He breathes fast and heavy, his brow slick with perspiration, his face and leathers soaked with blood. A mix of his blood and the wolfmen's blood. Damn it, what is he doing!? Why is he not moving!? Is the fight over already!?

"He's dead, Eric! He's dead!" I say, partly fearing that there's still some wolfmen remaining, partly desperate to assess the wounds Eric has sustained, especially that knife sticking out of his back!

Eric growls and rips his knife out of the wolfman's throat. The wolfman's body drops behind me with a thud. Eric's eyes fall to me, his hideous snarl receding to worry.

"Lass!" He sheathes his weapons and we reach for each other—a sudden pain shoots up my neck and down my arm, stopping just short of my tingling wrist and numb hand.

A cry escapes me, tears springing to my eyes. "Eric!" I sob pathetically, foolishly willing him to take away all my pain.

He curses with some foreign words and sneers, "Fuckin' bastards, allof'em!" He grabs my right wrist and runs his free hand over my injured shoulder, causing another surge of pain to rip through the searing pain already there! I cannot keep from screaming.

"I'm sorry, lass," he says, his voice full of worry, regret, and his own pain. "The bastard pulled yer shoulder out of its socket. This is gonna hurt like hell, but I have to put yer shoulder back in its socket 'fore it swells up too much."

"What?" I whimper, fear coming over me. I start shaking my head. "Don't—"

"It'll feel better when it's back in, believe me." Eric swings his leg over my thighs, straddling me, and pulls my arm straight by my wrist.

"No, no!" I squirm beneath him and push against his chest with my left hand. "Please, your back!—"

"Easy, lass, easy!" He grabs my left hand in his free one and squeezes it tightly, though he is gentle with his strength. "Ye need to relax!"

"WHAT!?" Tears spill down my cheeks with abandon. How the hell am I supposed to relax now!? "Your back! The knife!—"

"Which ye'll be able to help me with once I get yer shoulder back in its socket, alright?" Though my sight is blurred with my tears, I feel his eyes burning into me. I feel his worry, but also his relief. If he is relieved, then neither of us have life-threatening injuries. A stab wound and a dislocated shoulder are the worst of our concerns right now. It could be worse.

"Alright!?" he asks, more urgent this time.

I swallow hard and ask, "You'll be alright?" I must know. Not for Greta's sake nor mine, but for Eric's sake alone...though perhaps there is a selfish part of me that needs him to stick around.

"Aye...for now," he says softly, his words barely audible. For now? "Ye ready?" he asks me, his voice more steady and certain.

I nod shakily, my teeth chattering from the icy cold. What I wouldn't give for this to be a nightmare and to now wake up in Eric's embrace, neither of us injured, no dead wolfmen surrounding us.

"Relax, lass."

"Just quick. Quick," I whisper urgently, needing it done and over with now so that I can see his back! He gives my left hand another squeeze and starts maneuvering my right arm, holding it straight, flush with the snow, steadily arcing it up towards my head. I try to keep from screaming, but the pain is so hot, so intense, so pulsating that a sobbing scream pushes apart my clenched teeth and sealed lips, building and building until it rings loud and clear into the night. God only knows what else is out there.

"Almost there!" Eric says over my screams. That gives me a boost of hope. Hope that this pain will lessen. Hope that I can soon help Eric as he is helping me! POP. My scream dies as my pain fades to a dull ache. My shoulder still hurts, but compared to the pain before, this is relief. I let go of my breath, allowing the relief to soothe my whole aching body.

"Thank you!" I sob. My heart aches with longing, begging to be closer to him. Unable to resist, I bring his blood-soaked hand to my mouth and press a hard kiss to the backs of his fingers, tasting the iron tang of blood. I grimace and pull back enough so that the backs of his fingers rest on my lips. I can't stop myself from saying, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He exhales and releases my right wrist, still straddling my thighs. "That'll take a few weeks to heal. Go easy on yer shoulder—"

"Your back!" I blurt out, suddenly remembering the knife stuck in his back. I brace my right arm against the iced over snow and push myself to sit up, wincing from a sharp pain shooting out of my shoulder, but it's almost nothing compared to the pain just a moment ago.

He shakes his head. "I'm fine—"

"Fine!?" I can hardly believe my ears right now. "Get off me!" He doesn't get off me. His hand still clings to mine and mine to his, my tears still spilling down my cheeks. He's alright. For now, he added. "What are you not telling me!?" I try not to let it, but panic overtakes me, flooding my mind with so many horrible possibilities. "TELL ME!"

Though my sight is too damn blurry to see him, I can see him shaking his head again. I feel the dimming hope and the despair hanging in the air.

"Eric!?" I plead, feeling at a loss...for someone I never really had.

He swings his leg off me, freeing me. "Lass—" I scramble around to his back immediately, pulling my hand from his. I scrub my tears away with my coat sleeves, wincing from the sharp stings in my arm where the wolf had bit me. I accidentally smear some of my warm blood across my cheek, but I don't care. I manage to clear enough tears from my eyes to see the knife buried deep in his back. It has pierced through his leathers, right up to the hilt. A small, dark patch has leaked out around the hilt, slowly dribbling farther down his coat. The blade is too low to have pierced his lung, and he seems to be breathing alright. That is a relief itself, but the blade is high enough to have possibly pierced his kidney, or perhaps one of his bowels. I remember the pain of the arrow piercing my kidney. Intense, burning pain that would wash over my whole flank, so agonizing that it immobilized me for brief periods of time.

"Can I take the knife out? Or will you bleed – should I not?" I cannot utter that one dreadful word. He'll be alright. He has to be. I look up at the back of his head.

He glances back at me, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and...something else that causes my heart to hurt like never before. It's foreboding, like a dark and terrible storm that's nearly here.

"Eric?" My heart picks up and my chest constricts. My breathing shallows and quickens. What is he not telling me!?

"Ye better pull it out. The bastard poisoned the blade. The less poison, the better."

"WHAT!?" My hands are moving before I know it, one hand grabbing his shoulder while the other grabs the hilt and pulls the knife out of his back.

"HMM!" Eric arches his back from me, keeping his cry of pain behind sealed lips. "DAMN!" he curses and grabs his knees. He hunches over and takes in a deep, controlled breath through pursed lips.

My heart hurts even more "I'm sorry!" I drop the knife on the snow and hug him gently from behind, unsure of what else to do.

"It's alright," he forces out, his voice strained. He sucks in another deep breath and manages to straighten his back, a bit of blood gushing out of his stab wound and dribbling down his coat. I can't stop my eyes from wandering down to the blade. My heart sinks so deep. There it lies on the snow, the blade soaked in crimson with spots of oily black. Tempted, I reach down and barely touch my fingertip to one of the oily black spots. A sharp, burning pain shoots up my finger! I snatch my hand back instantly, hissing. God, I cannot imagine how much his stab wound must hurt right now! It's like the wolfman stabbed Eric with a flaming poker!

"Ye alright?" Eric asks me, the sound of his concern drawing my eyes back up—I cannot look away from Eric's wound, some more blood dribbling down his coat than before. A little too much.

"You're bleeding back here." I go to press my hands against his stab wound, but he scoots away suddenly, turning himself to face me.

His eyes lock with mine, stilling my words of reprimand on my tongue. "I'm no' gonna bleed out. Dinnae worry. Let me see yer arm." He reaches out to grab my right hand, but I scramble back out of his reach.

"No, not until you tell me about this poison that's in your body!" My rising panic threatens to overtake me again. "How bad is it? Tell me! What can I do to help you!?"

Eric frowns deeply, his eyes dim with such sadness, such regret.

Panic nearly takes me. "Eric!?—"

"Those delvirs that attacked us, they must've been sent by Ravenna—"

"I know!" I snap. "Get to the point!"

"I am!" he snaps back. His anger quickly leaves him for that softened, regretful look again. "They were sons of Skoll. They're able to change their bodies from man to wolf and from wolf to man as they will."

"The bithioxs," I say, all the dots starting to connect. "Ursus. One of those wolfmen called you Ursus!"

Eric shakes his head. "Nae, no' me. That bastard was cursin' my God."

My brows furrow, my mind thoroughly addled.

Eric draws in a deep breath, bracing himself. "I was a son of Ursus." He looks away from me and draws in another shaky breath. "I'm a willful exile of Stigr's clan."

My eyes widen. "A...willful exile? Who's Stigr?"

"I chose to leave." He turns his head to look at me, drying blood marring both sides of his face and encrusting itself in his hair and beard. "Simple as that," he says, so matter-of-fact. Brief anger rises in me. As if I am supposed to just understand all this! He never told me who Stigr is!? Perhaps he's the chief, but that's trivial now!

I shake my head, my anger receding back to my fear and panic. "What does your willful exile have to do with the poison in your body!? What is it doing to you!? How do I get it out!?—"

"Ye cannae get it out!" His face softens almost immediately again as he banishes his sudden anger. "I'm sorry, lass." Regret and something else fills his eyes...fear. I dare a quick glance about us. Surrounding us are the mutilated bodies of wolves and men, and some caught in between their shapeshifting. Some with wolf ears and hairy faces, some with their legs still bent like the hind legs of wolves. The wolves are dead. What does Eric have to be afraid of now?

"Look at me," Eric says, suddenly harsh and stern. I look up at him, my eyes stinging and my sight of him blurring. "Listen, there's a wee chance that—" A sob escapes me, cutting him off.

"There's got to be something I can do!" I wail, knowing deep down that he may never tell me how to save him. "There's got to be something! Tell me!—"

"QUIET!" he yells, making me jolt. He closes the space between us and grabs my face in both his bloody, chilled hands, catching all my tears that fall. "Stop cryin'! Listen to me. Vilgard is the closest settlement. They have a healer there. He may have the herbs I need to neutralize the poison. I'm no' sure how long I have before the poison takes its full effect. I'm fine for now, but we should get movin' at first light—"

"No, we must leave now!—"

"WE CANNAE SEE IN THIS DARK!" He lets go of my face and holds his arms out to the bitter night surrounding us...almost as if begging death to come for him now. My heart misses a beat, panic trying to take hold of me again. I cannot keep interrupting him. Time is of the essence, but he is right. Racing out into the pitch black now when we cannot see a damn thing is suicide. I can barely see him as is save for the forgotten torch lying on its side in the snow, the gold light flickering behind him with the wind.

He drops his arms, smacking the sides of his leather coat. "We leave at first light. Nae later. Let's pray nothin' hungry or angry smells all this blood and comes by. Let's pack up our thin's. C'mon." Eric collects his hatchet that he had given to me and sheathes it somewhere within his coat. He braces his bare hands in the snow, pain twisting his face with silent agony as he rises to his bear-sized stature. Just as he gains his footing, his left knee buckles under him!

"Eric!" I jump to my feet and catch him in my arms before he falls, sharp pain piercing my right shoulder through like a knife. A cry escapes me

"Dammit, I'm fine!" he says, but he grabs my left arm for support. I help him find his footing, but I dare not let him go. Already, I do not like how heavily he leans on me just to stand. He lets go of my left arm and turns around, but I keep my arm wrapped about his back. "Let me go, I can walk!" he snaps, but I trudge through the snow beside him, not daring to take my arm from behind his back no matter how angry he becomes with me.

"You'll have to push me away then," I say, my tongue sharper than I thought possible. My shot nerves and knotted stomach have taken away my fear of his anger. He groans, but he makes no move to push me away. We trudge through the snow, working our way around the tree, having to veer left and right to avoid the carnage Eric wrought on these wolfmen. At least half of the pack had their throats either slashed or their heads completely severed from their shoulders. Some have cracked open chests. Some have stumps where their arms and hands should be. Some have been gutted, their bowels spilt onto the blood-soaked snow. Barely any white snow remains within the glow of the firelight. As we pass by one particular corpse, his guts hanging out of the clean gash in his stomach, I can't help but look down at his face. Though he is dead, his black eyes still flicker white with unseen flames. The flames of hell, perhaps. I swallow hard and look away, fear twisting my gut. I don't need some special power like Eric to sense the evil still lingering here. Though the wolfmen are dead, I sense the evil here...like their souls are still here watching Eric and I hobble our way to the entrance of our tree well. This is pure carnage, like the rampaging son of a bear god ripped through them with his claws and teeth and his supernatural strength.

We reach the tree well entrance, carefully navigating around the scattered burning logs of the fire Eric had rekindled.

"Ye go in the well and put as much food and drink in yer satchel and mine as ye can. Empty my satchel of everythin' except the food and drink," Eric instructs me, looking about at the scattered, barely burning branches of our fire. He grabs my arm and pulls it from his back. "I've got to get this fire back together. It's the only thin' that'll keep other wild animals away from here."

I frown at him, my sight having cleared some of my tears. "Eric, I can put the fire back together and gather everything." That draws his half-lidded gaze to me, already something seeming off about him. I swallow. "You need to rest."

He returns my frown and squeezes my arm. "No' now. Later. Gather our thin's. Then ye try to get some rest." He forces me to the opening in the pine's snow-laden boughs. I open my mouth to protest, but I stop myself. Time is of the essence, though how much time he has...Fear grips my heart in its chilly, bony hands.

"In ye go." He helps me slide down the snow and land on the bed of boughs. He lets go of my arm, leaving me all alone in the bottom of this nearly pitch black pit! I scramble back around and peer at Eric from behind the cover of one of the boughs. He stumbles about in the snow, a stark difference to his usual grace and dexterity. Fear tightens its bone-chilling grip about my heart. What little hope I have threatens to abandon me. Eric pulls on his gloves with trembling hands and picks up the cool end of this blazing branch here and that smoldering branch there, rearranging them into an almost senseless assortment.

God, I cannot lose him! Do you hear me, you damn, silent bastard!? No matter what, I will not let you take him from me! He will not die having saved me! My life is not worth his! I will keep him here on this earth no matter the cost. Greta. Oh God, Greta! I...I know I promised to come back for you, Greta. I know, but Eric…if I am to have any chance of reaching you, I must save him. He is your only chance as well as mine.

Despite Eric's growing lack of coordination, he manages to build a fire and give me enough light to see what I will be pawing through. Somehow, I find the strength to tear my eyes from him and turn to our packs. He said to pack our satchels with as much food and drink and to empty his of everything else. My heart aches. He and I are both weakened, me with my injured shoulder and him by the poison...surely spreading through his body right now. I swallow a hard lump down my throat, trying to stem the tears begging to flow again. He must be in more pain than he is letting on. Barely touching my fingertip to the black poison burned like hell. I cannot begin to fathom what that poison must feel like spreading through his body. Whatever it feels like, he will not be able to carry his rucksack. Any extra weight will only slow us down. We must travel as light as possible.

I grab Eric's satchel and pull the small loop of the flap off the—horrifyingly large bear claw sown in place as a button! God, what kind of beast did this claw come from!? He must have been a bear of immense size. I shake my head of the thought and toss back the flap, peering into the satchel's contents. There is his fish bait with the black line wrapped around it and beneath that is his waterskin. There is also a tidy collection of several leather pouches beside his waterskin. I pluck out one leather pouch and rub it between my frozen, tingling fingers. Though I can barely feel anything, I hear and feel the grinding of several hard objects against each other. A...pouch of rocks? Strange. I set the pouch in the folds of my skirts, not wanting to lose it within the bed of boughs. I pick out another pouch, this one full of rocks as well. I set the pouch in my skirt and pull out the rest of the pouches, some of them full of rocks and some of them full of dried meat. I think these rocks must be pieces of flint, or the stone he uses to sharpen his hatchets. I know he said to empty his satchel of everything save food and drink, but how else will he start a fire as quickly as he does without flint nor sharpen his weapons without his whetstones? They don't take up too much space, so better to pack them than not to. I put several leather pouches of the rocks back into his satchel, something catching my eye.

I pull the satchel open wider and peer closer. There is a small, leather bound book in here, the tops of the parchment having turned yellow with the years. My curiosity gets the better of me. I grab the leather book out of the satchel. The book is as thick as two of my thumbs pressed together and closed securely with a long leather strap wrapped around it. What's in here? It looks old, perhaps a little more than ten years. I peek over my shoulder. Eric is a little ways off kneeling beside one of the mutilated bodies, his back to me, just...kneeling there staring down at the corpse. Brief fear rises in me, but then the faint murmuring of his voice carries in the chilly breeze and reaches my ears. His voice is so soft and distant that I barely hear it, but I can just make out some of his foreign words. Strangely enough, I don't feel as much of the evil surrounding me anymore. What is he doing?

He pushes himself to his unsteady feet. I watch him turn and stumble off out of my sight. All I hear is the crunching of the snow beneath his boots, some crunches lighter, some heavier, some with little pauses of deathly silence between them. A loud CRUNCH sounds...silence. My worry grows, my heart picking up.

"Eric!?" I call out, unable to resist doing so.

"Ye done packin'!?" he calls back.

My cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "No, no, I was...you're alright?" My voice cracks on the last two words. I tense, waiting for his response...waiting...oh God! "Eric!?"

"I'm fine, lass," he says. Some relief fills me, though it's not enough. "Ye keep packin'! Ye'll find more food and drink in my rucksack! Pack as much of it as ye can!"

I frown. "What are you doing?"

"Jus'...sayin' some prayers for the dead."

My frown lessens. "It's working."

"Aye," he says, sounding distracted. My frown deepens again. I never took him as a man of prayer, let alone faith. Even though he is a willful exile of Stigr's clan—whoever Stigr is—he still seems to hold his bear god and his prayers close to his heart. I wonder, did he leave his family behind when he left? There's so much that I don't know about him, but damn it if he hasn't succeeded in raising a thousand more questions!

I sigh. That hardly matters now. Time is running out and we must be ready to leave at first light. I turn my attention back to his leather bound book. The curiosity from before creeps back to tempt me. Just take a quick peek. There's a moment to do so. A twinge of guilt enters my heart as I unwind the leather strap from the book and crack it open to two random pages. On the yellowed pages are strange symbols arranged in neat lines, the bodies of symbols tucked closer to the right side of the book than to the left. Strange. I wonder if Eric's native tongue requires him to read from right to left. So strange and foreign. I sigh and flip the page only to be greeted with more of the strange symbols. Clearly its writing, written in a tongue that I do not understand. I frown and gingerly flip through the next few pages, fearing that I may tear one of them by accident. It's just more strange symbols arranged in several separate bodies and aligned perfectly to the right side of the book. I wish I could read this.

I flip the next page—My eyes grow wide, seeing the beautifully sketched image of a buck. His antlers are an intricate artwork in and of themselves. I see each strand of his fur, each ridge and line in his antlers, and the glint of light in his big, dark eyes that seem to stare at me, watching me closely. Ever so carefully, I ghost my frozen fingertips over the buck's antler, feeling the faint grooves of the dried charcoal or ink. Hell, I'm not sure what Eric used to draw this buck, but either this is his creation or his mother's. I can only assume it must be his. I found this book in his satchel. Not just that, but seeing the expert craftsmanship of his skis and mine and of his fish bait proves his creative talent.

A faint smile spreads my lips and soothes my aching heart some as I flip through several more pages, skipping over the foreign writing and lingering on each of the animal sketches. I come across the drawing of several different birds, some large and magnificent with long necks and rounded bills and some that are small with sharp beaks. I flip a few more pages of writing and stop, my eyes fixed on the drawing of a bear lying down beside two much smaller bears—a mother bear and her cubs. One of her cubs rests his head on his mother's outstretched paw while the other cub has climbed onto his mother's back, his mother's ear caught between his teeth. The little family is caught within the page, yet they look serene.

I flip the next few pages, not too surprised to find the book empty of wolves. "He is afraid of the wolves." Yes, he may be afraid of them, but he still fought them. He slaughtered them. He won the fight...I pray. If the poison—no, don't succumb to those thoughts, Snow. Don't!

I skip over the next few pages of text, finding other images of animals interspersed between them, and a few of the pages torn out of the binding. I frown as my heart sinks. No, this is not some random book of prayers with images sketched in it. This must be some kind of journal, something that Eric writes bits and pieces of his life in from time to time...and some bits and pieces that he tore out. God, I wish I could read his writing!

I flip the next page and the next—wait, there was an image of something that passed by quickly. I flip back two pages and stop, finding the drawing of a woman. My mouth parts while my brows furrow. The page is not as yellowed as the past pages, so this must be a newer sketch. The woman looks young, but she is starved. Her bare shoulders are small and bony. Her collarbone is sharp and pronounced. Her hair is black with the charcoal or ink used to draw her, also thick and long and horribly knotted. Her jaw is gaunt and narrow, yet her cheeks have a natural plumpness to them that softens her face and makes her look younger than she probably is. Her lips are dark and full, yet they are also cracked and swollen and the corners are weighed down with an eternal frown. Her face is battered and scratched, but beneath all that is a pretty lady. A pang of envy forms in my heart. I try to ignore it as my eyes are drawn to her eyes. They're a little too big for her face. Perhaps it is because she is starved or because they are held wide open. They are black, but I can still see the whites of her eyes unlike the wolfmen's eyes. She looks very sad. Very worn. The woman doesn't have to speak of her past life before she ended up trapped on a page in Eric's book. It's all in her black eyes. She's endured a life she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. She's also guilty of more than she will ever confess. I'm not quite sure who this woman is...though I can't help but wonder if this woman is me. God, who am I jesting? I'll never find out who this woman is. Nor is whatever and whoever Eric has drawn in his book of any pressing concern now.

"What're ye doin'?"

I gasp and scramble about on my knees, my eyes crossing Eric's hard ones. He is kneeling on the boughs behind me. I didn't hear him come into the tree well! His brows furrow as his eyes drop to his open book in my hands. My heart takes off racing, beating hard.

"I'm sorry," I utter. I close the book gingerly, loop the leather strap around it, and offer his book to him.

He frowns and looks up at me, the wrinkles about his eyes softening. "That's what ye look like," he says and grabs his book out of my hand. My eyes widen as he pulls back the top of his vest and hides his journal within.

"So that – was me?" My brows furrow, my heart filling with a strange ache. He drops his hands from his vest and nods once, a look of unease shaping his grimy, bloodstained face. I'm...not sure what to think of it, nor how to take it. "Why did you draw me?" I ask him, unable to keep the cynicism out of my voice.

His frown deepens. "Because I wanted to," he says, sounding like he is admitting some horrible, dark secret.

A twinge of guilt hits the corner of my heart. "Why did you want to? When did you draw...me?" God, saying that makes me squirm. Squirming from awkwardness, shame, or embarrassment, I do not know which.

He swallows and clears his throat, discomfort and shame coming from him. "I drew ye back at Jerome and Annabelle's farm. Yer a beautiful lass and I…" he sighs and looks down at his lap "...so I drew ye." His eyes fall shut. "I ne'er want to forget ye. I thought that if I somehow get the chance to grow so old that my mind goes," he laughs once, bitter and humourless, "then I want some reminder of ye. That's why I drew ye."

A painful, bittersweet ache tugs at my heart, begging to be closer to him. I do not recall him drawing this. He must have drawn this in privacy. God, for him to remember all these details of my face, every scratch, every crack in my lips...he must have a sharp memory. I swallow another hard lump down my throat, wincing from the slight pain it causes me. Unable to resist my heart's pleading anymore, I scoot closer to him until my knees bump into his, and I grab the back of his neck. I pause. I don't want to cause him further pain with the stab wound in his back, yet I cannot reach his lips from here. My stomach twists about it's already knotted self, but if we have this small moment before first light...there's no telling how much time he has left. The poison is already taking its toll on him. Tears scorch my eyes and blur my sight of him as I brace my free hand against the boughs and push myself off my knees. Somehow, I manage to climb into his lap and rest my thighs about his hips without putting strain on his back.

A heavy breath leaves him while he grabs my hips and clings to them...almost as if for his life. I press my chilled mouth to his in the black abyss. He stiffens against me, the press of his mouth lessening on mine. My heart grows heavier in my chest, fearing that he will find the resolve to pull away. Slowly, he relaxes against me and returns my kiss. The salty tang of my tears and the iron tang of blood spoils our kiss, whether his blood or mine or one of the wolfmen's, I loathe to know. Despite this, our kiss deepens and our tongues meet. He presses his hands harder into me and pulls me closer to him, slowly sliding his hands up my sides until his thumbs press into the bottoms of my breasts. I whimper into our kiss and bury my fingers in his chilled, slick hair, needing to cling to him in any way I can. To think that I may lose him at any moment. To think that that moment could be so close!

A sob escapes me, breaking our kiss. "Please!" I say, pressing my forehead to his. "I'll be slow! Gentle! Easy on your back!" My eyes sting sharply with another wave of tears. "I cannot lose you!" I want more than just his goodness. I want his affection, his heart, his soul. I want all of him. God, how selfish that is.

He lets go of a hard, hot breath that hits my tingling mouth. "It's no' my back that's the problem. I barely feel it now," he whispers hoarsely. I hear him swallow hard. "I thought we agreed—"

"That was before the wolves, before they…" I cannot say it aloud. I...can't. "How far off is first light?"

He shakes his head. "That disnae matter. I cannae hurt ye. I cannae become myself again—"

"After what you did tonight, how could you ever become that man again!? And your past is not who you are!" I can't contain myself. The need, the sudden anger, the overwhelming fear of losing him has driven me over the precipice! Rather than selflessly allowing him to rest, here I am selfishly seeking him. My need for him far outweighs my guilt. "What you did tonight, all you're doing now, that's who you are!" I sob pathetically. "You're a good man...and whatever comes from this, I'll accept it gladly."

His fingers dig into my ribs. "Those are some nice words, lass...but I dinnae believe them." He sighs and with great reluctance, he lifts me out of his lap. He doesn't take his hands from me as they are the only things keeping me at bay.

Fear grips me, fear that I will never get to feel anything from him, fear that this distance will always remain between us. "Eric!—"

"If I am anythin' close to the good man ye believe me to be, then I willnae take yer innocence here." He shakes his head while he loosens his hold of me. "I've wronged Sara, and I've wronged all those poor lasses before and after her. Yer my second chance, I...please. Help me to do right by ye."

A new, profound guilt comes over my heart like a crushing wave, drowning all my sinful desire for him. All those women he wronged before and after Sara? That would mean that he paid for prostitutes even after Sara died! How could he do that!? How could he bring himself to—no, I know how it happened. He gave up after he lost Sara. He gave up, drank himself to the point where all good sense and inhibition are gone, and that's when he slipped right back into his old habits. God, I assumed that he had stayed the changed man he was after he lost Sara, but the signs were there from the very beginning. Only within this past week has he had a noticeable change in his demeanor...but how easy it is to give up. That much I understand. It is too easy to give up. And how could I do this to him now!? He sacrificed himself for my pathetic hide. All he asks of me in return is to help him do right by me, to not tempt him or beg him further. That...that is the most selfless thing to ask for in return. The least I can do is let him have the solace of being the good man that he is, to let me be his second chance. Damn it, no matter what, I must do everything I can to make sure he reaches Vilgard! This world would suffer greatly if it lost another good man like Eric.

"I'm sorry," I say. It takes every bit of willpower that I possess, but for his sake alone, I manage to let him go.

He frowns down at me. "Dinnae apologize." He takes his hands from me, but his gaze lingers on me. The air is thick and heavy with unfulfilled desire, but for his sake alone, I refrain from touching him again. His words from earlier creep back into my mind and haunt me. I barely feel it now.

He turns his attention to his satchel resting on the boughs beside me and reaches for it.

"What you said about you barely feeling it now," I say softly, halting his hand and pulling his heavy eyes up to me. "What did you mean by that?"

His eyes darken with something that stirs dread in my stomach and in my heart. He tears his gaze from me and snatches his satchel off the boughs beside me, rummaging through it.

Impatience and frustration prick at my skin like a thousand needles. "Eric, what did you mean by that!?"

"The poison...it's incendium poison," he says reluctantly, not bothering to lift his eyes to mine!

"Incendium poison!?" I say, the heat of anger slowly building in my chest. "You didn't tell me this before! What kind of poison is it!?"

He sighs aloud, almost sounding annoyed, which only serves to make my anger burn more. "Incendium poison comes from the incendium plant—"

"Really!?" I mock.

His face stiffens, his eyes growing hard around the edges. Finally, he turns his hard gaze to me. "Aye, really," he mocks me. That spikes my anger to a near boiling point. "It only grows in Skoll's homeland. Sons of Skoll consider the plant a gift from him to wield against their enemies. The poison can take a while to work." His eyes start to soften again, managing to cool my anger some. "It hurts at first..." I remember how much that black oil burned me when I just touched it. He speaks up, pulling me from my thoughts. "Then it numbs ye." It numbed him? So, even if Eric had given into me...he would have felt nothing. No pleasure. No pain. No cold. Nothing. He looks down at his satchel and starts rummaging through it.

I swallow hard, finding it incredibly hard to believe him. It takes a while for the poison to work? I saw how this incendium poison affected him as soon as he stood to his feet. "Are you sure this poison works slowly? What—" I loathe to know this...but I must know. "What is the poison doing to you right now? What should I expect these next two days to Vilgard?"

Something flashes across his eyes, but he quickly steels his face with stolid confidence. He stops rummaging through his satchel and looks at me with that stolid confidence. "Ye should expect that I make it to Vilgard on my own two feet with ye at my side. That's what ye should expect." He gives me one strong nod and turns his attention back to his satchel, rummaging through it again. God, I pray that he's right. How desperately I need him to be right...yet he has been wrong about stuff like this before.

"Aye, looks good," he says, nodding his approval, still rummaging through his satchel, "and smart thinkin' about packin' the whetstones and flint. I wasnae thinkin' straight when I told ye to no' pack them."

I frown at him. "Thank you," I mutter, finding it too difficult to speak any louder. The sooner we get out of this tree well, the better chances Eric has of reaching Vilgard. With renewed urgency, I join his side and help him pack the remainder of our supplies; our satchels, my gloves, the rolled leather sack holding our trout, my deer pelt, our skis and our long poles. Eric lifts all three straps of our satchels and his rolled leather sack onto his shoulder.

"We're all packed," he says as he sits back on the boughs, crossing his legs. "It's no' first light yet. We have some time to rest."

My heart aches bitterly again, feeling the guilt for the anger and impatience it felt with him earlier. I scoot closer to him until my side is flush with his. His arm wraps around me while my arms tighten about his waist, minding the stab wound in his back. I lift my weary head to him, a yawn threatening to come up my throat, but I suppress it. "Do you truly feel nothing now? Not even this?" I ignore his confused look and grab the back of his neck. I guide his mouth down to mine for a soft, still kiss.

I pull back before he does, my eyes crossing his half-lidded, somber ones. He says, "When we reach Vilgard and this poison is neutralized, then I'll feel like I've never felt before." He presses a brief, chaste kiss to my mouth. "The first thin' I want to feel are yer lips."

My eyes prickle and my sight of him blurs. I bury my face into the side of his chest, his leather coat icy cold. "And you will," I say into his coat, my voice quivering and muffled. Despite his sudden confidence that he will reach Vilgard, I cannot shake his uncertainty from before. Why is he putting on this confident show so suddenly? Is it for his benefit? Or mine? Or for us both?

"Try no' to cry," he says softly. He strokes my back and holds me closer to him. "Sleep. I'll wake ye when it's first light."

I try relaxing against him. I try to sleep with all I have, but my body is too tense, too ready to spring to action and get moving to Vilgard already.

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

"It's first light," he says, not bothering to shake me awake as he always does. No words need be said. He knows that I did not get any sleep, and I know that he did not either. "C'mon." He takes his arm from me and crawls out of our tree well first, the dismal grey of first light washing over him.

I frown at him as he turns around to face me. "Those packs aren't too heavy for you?" I ask him.

He frowns down at me and extends his hand down into our tree well, waiting for me to accept his help. "Nae."

My frown deepens. "Eric, please, I can climb out myself. I don't want to put any unnecessary strain on your back." I carefully push his hand back to him and place our skis and one of our long poles outside of our tree well. A stinging hurt has been strung up between us like a poor sod on the gallows, but neither of us acknowledge it aloud. I pull on my gloves and clamber up the snow drift and out of the tree well by myself while Eric turns his back to me and kicks some snow over the last of our fire, smothering it. He must be trying to hide that we were here. Sure, he can try to hide the fire, but what about all the carnage he strewn all over the place!? I push myself to my feet and look about us—my eyes widen. There are still patches of red marring the grey-white snow, but the bodies are gone, not one arm nor bowel nor head left behind!

"Where did the bodies go!?" I look at Eric with wide eyes, a brief image of myself in his book flashing across my mind. If my eyes are already too big for my face with just a normal glance, then how big must they look right now?

He glances back at me. "I buried 'em. Nae need to leave such blatant signs of us bein' here."

I nod, partly relieved, partly worried about the strain he already put himself through to hide all the bodies. While he finishes covering our fire with a generous pile of snow, I gather our skis and long poles and set the two larger skis before him.

He glances up at me and nods. "Thank ye."

"Of course," I say. I pass him his long pole as well.

"Thank ye again," he says, chuckling softly, turning to face me. Despite the bitter mood in the steadily brightening air, he does manage to lighten it enough to allow a smile upon my lips.

"You're welcome again," I say.

His chuckling ebbs, that reverent look of his softening his face. The air shifts again as he stabs his long pole into the snow and moves towards me, taking me in his arms. I stab my long pole into the snow and wrap my arms about him in a tight embrace, still minding the stab wound in his back despite his numbness. My heart aches terribly at the thought that though he feels no pain anymore, he also doesn't feel my tight embrace about him, nor did he feel my lips on his earlier. It's a horrible trade. Yes, how wonderful it would be for me to never feel pain again, but for that to come at the cost of never feeling Eric's touch again...it's not worth it.

"Yer the one good thin' that's happened to me since…tsk," he scoffs above me. I can't help but stiffen like stone in his arms. I loathe to think where he is going with this, but wherever he is going with this, I can't bear to hear it no matter how much I long to. His chest rises against me with his intake of breath, his mouth parting to speak.

"All this will only matter if you make it to Vilgard." I tilt my chin up, my eyes crossing his sad, icy blue ones.

"Aye." He nods once, his reverence gone and replaced with somberness again. "C'mon, let's get goin'."

"Alright," I say, unable to nod.

He steps back out of my arms, his eyes lingering on me for a moment. What I wouldn't give for every drop of this incendium poison to be out of his body, for us to be in Vilgard safe and in a room with a bed where he may finally feel comfortable enough to show me his goodness and strength in the most intimate way. What I wouldn't give for all that, but nothing can change this new, cruel reality. He manages to tear his eyes from mine and starts strapping on his skis. I imitate him, strapping on my own skis and grabbing my long pole out of the snow. He grabs his long pole out of the snow and we both push off with our poles, putting some much needed distance between us and that damn tree well. I dare a quick glance up at the sky. It's still first light, I think. Day fifteen.

I look ahead at Eric, watching him ski with his usual grace along the snow, weaving himself around the trees. The poison takes a while to work...He is skiing like his old, unpoisoned self now. If he's right, that gives time to reach Vilgard. If he's wrong...I remember something flashed across his eyes before he put up that confident front. Was it uncertainty? Pain? Or was it certainty, not that he will make it to Vilgard, but that—no, don't think it. Thinking it will only depress me, perhaps even keep me from reaching Vilgard altogether. The mind is a powerful thing, and negative thoughts even more powerful. Remaining calm and positive will help Eric. Entertaining even one negative thought...a choking sob escapes me. I manage to keep my tears back no matter how much they burn my eyes, my nose, and the back of my throat. I must keep clear sight of the journey ahead.

We will make it to Vilgard. They will have the herbs Eric needs to save his life. When he is better, we will then find a room at the inn and let our passions take over. Yes, that is what will happen. I dare a quick glance up at the sky. It's a little brighter than the last time I looked. Fifteen days I have spent getting to know Eric while we flee from Ravenna and Finn. God, that's half a month already gone by. I look back down at Eric, following his exact path through the trees. There's no telling what these next three and a half months will hold for us. Each day, each moment is uncertain. That's a fact of life no matter how much I tell myself that we will reach Vilgard in two days.

So, I lean into my shins, increasing my speed, skiing along like Eric's very life depends on me. Yes, this is what I'm more familiar with. Thinking realistically, but also setting my mind to doing everything I can to ensure that he reaches Vilgard alive and well.