Zechs leaned his head against the wall. Would the enemy, with their eyes high above on that mountain, have seen them? Or even have taken the chance to send out a search party to look for them?

He doubted it, but there was always a chance.

And then, what should they do? Should they stay there in hopes they were found, or should they start their dangerous trek up the mountain, or, worse yet, try to find their way back to their "home"?

Then, still, there was Noin. She hadn't looked very well when she had woken up. Her body didn't seem to be very tolerant of the cold. Not at all, really. And his wrist was, undoubtedly, broken. He'd done a rather sloppy job binding it, and it hurt even just lying in the snow. That wasn't all. Hunger reigned, and the meager supply of packaged foods Noin's waterproof emergency bag had supplied had seemed awfully inadequate.

He hadn't touched the other bag. the one that was hers. It was dusted with snow and hard with ice, looking forlorn and out of place against the packed dirt and rotting leaves of the ground. He shivered, and looked up into the sky, which was slowly turning dark in the early evening.

The lack of light wouldn't be an added bonus. He figured that they should eat again, while the sun still provided enough radiance to "cook" by. There was a flashlight, and batteries, but the risk of being seen was too great. Who knew what they might think up there.. They were the enemy.

Zechs pulled out the stove, and the pot, which he used to scoop up a liberal amount of snow before placing it on the fiery burner. He waited until it was almost melted, added a bit more, and went to wake Noin.

As before, he shook her shoulder. But, unlike before, she did not stir.

"Noin?" he shook a bit harder. There was no response. A worried breath billowed out in front of him. Using his injured wrist as best he could, he pulled her out of the hole. Her skin was cold, too cold, and a thin sheet of frost flaked off from her jacket as he moved her.

"Noin." he breathed, and leaned his face closer to hers. A soft breath tickled his cheek, reassuring him that she was alive, though only barely. He laid her down flat, and lifted her feet slightly, setting them on a few boards. Recovery position, it was called, for those suffering from hypothermia.