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.

19. Chapter 19 Some Ice Fishin'

Chapter 19 Some Ice Fishin'

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"Mornin', lass," he says in the void. He squeezes my arm, rousing me from my dreamless sleep. I open my heavy eyes and look about. Last night's fire has melted us into another deep hole. I lift my eyes higher to the loose canopy of branches far above. Cloud-shrouded daylight barely breaks through the branches, leaving the dark, draining feeling that often comes before impending rainfall. What a dreary morning. Day fourteen, I suppose.

"Have some breakfast." Eric gives my arm another squeeze and stands up, breaking the grey light with his bear-like stature. My eyes drift to him despite all warning me against it. If there was any sun shining, he would consume me in his shadow.

He gives me a faint smile. "How's yer voice? Can ye speak?" he asks, hopeful.

Last night's—dream, if it can be called that, floods my mind. He knows nothing about it, but my stomach still twists with shame as if he does. He keeps saying my heart beats with good. If he can see my heart, see the goodness it beats with and see all its scars, then how can he not see the evil which has mangled it?

Despite all these wonderings, I suck in a deep breath. If a peep of sustained, painless sound leaves my throat, how relieving that will be. My heart on edge, my throat tightening, yet not painfully swollen like these last few days, I say, "Thank you."

My eyes widen and so do his along with his growing smile. My voice was raspy as hell, but it was sustained! It had tone, volume, depth, some inkling of what I sounded like before! Sure, I had no voice for only a few days, but it felt like a millennia!

"Ye spoke!" Eric laughs with glee and scoops me off the ground by my waist! I squeal like a child and grab his shoulders while he spins me about, the twisting in my stomach long gone and replaced with the thrill of fun and joy. "Yer laughin'! Yer smilin'!"

The sound of my raspy laughter reaches my ears. Raspy as hell, but it is sustained. It has tone, volume, depth, no waning in its strength! And how fun it is to be spun around like this, laughing gleefully with this hunter who I owe my life to!

All too soon, his laughter dies and his smile lessens while he stops spinning me and seats me on the edge of the snow. Though his smile has shrunk some, part of it remains.

"Ye spoke. It's a beautiful sound." He squeezes my waist, sending pleasurable tingles up my spine and down into my thighs. My nails dig deeper into his leather coat. My frozen lips tingle, my eyes watching his chapped, blue-tinged mouth speak. "But yer still healin'. I'll pack our thin's. Ye eat and rest." He gives my waist one more squeeze and steps back out of my reach, his faint smile and his eyes not leaving me. The thrill leaves me as the weight of disappointment sinks in. I still want his hands on my waist, him spinning me about, to hear his laughter, so unlike any other laughter that I've heard.

His eyes suddenly turn curious. "Ye said thanks. Thanks for what?"

A true smile returns to my frozen, numb lips. "For carrying me to Hymark. I never thanked you for that."

His brows furrow while his eyes dart to my mouth. "Are ye sure? I thought ye did." He returns his gaze to mine.

I shrug. "Even if I did before, it does not hurt to say it again."

He smirks. "In yer case, it could. Now stop talkin'. Try to rest yer voice."

I scrunch up my nose at him when he turns his back to me and starts collecting our packs. No. My throat does not hurt and I have my voice back. I am going to ask him all the questions I wanted to ask him for these last few days! If I don't do so soon, today at least, then I may never get another chance to.

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After we eat and gather up our belongings, we start the day's journey. The first part of our day consists of smooth terrain. The air is a touch warmer. It does not chill me to the bone. I can actually feel a bit of my lips brushing against my scarf. Eric glides along the snow at a relaxed pace. Matching his pace is easy to do and surprisingly relaxing to my sore muscles. I wonder if he is purposely going easier on me.

He glances back at me, fully taking me in before looking ahead. "Slow 'nough for ye!?" he calls back to me.

A sweet, tender ache softens my heart for him. Perhaps too much. "You're too kind!" I say, my voice half as raspy as it was when I first awoke. "But slow down a bit more!"

Eric shifts direction, easily evading a lone tree in his path. "Why!?" he asks, sounding more surprised than angry, but he subtly angles his skis inward, slowing down his pace. He reaches a stretch of clear path ahead of him and looks back at me, his features scrunched in a rather humorous way, like he just smelled something bad.

I can't help but chortle at him as I pick up my pace and catch up to him, joining his side along this clear stretch of terrain. "I want to talk to you!" I say.

A grin spreads his chapped lips despite his reprimanding. "Ye really should rest yer voice!"

I shake my head at him. He did say I can shake my head at him all I want. "No! My voice is nearly back and my throat barely hurts! You have told me some very—" oh, what is the word I'm looking for? "—astounding things! Things that I'd almost never believe!" He jerks his head back, feigning insult, but amusement gleams in his eyes. I giggle at his ribbing, my stomach knotting and my heart fluttering at what I'm about to say. "You're an intriguing man, shrouded in mystery!"

The feigned hurt leaves his face, his eyes softening around the edges. A pleased, and rather dashing, smile graces his mouth. My greedy eyes drift to his mouth. His lips are no longer tinged blue, but have some pale flushing of blood just beneath their cracked surface. Sinful fantasies reignite in my mind. His lips, rough and chilled, press against my lips, then my throat, then brush down my chest and kiss down my stomach—I suck in a desperate breath and look over the rest of his face. I try to ignore that throbbing ache between my legs. I cannot squeeze my thighs together lest I entangle my skis and break my leg in the fall! I try to focus on the rest of his smiling face. Flecks of soot from our nighttime fires stick to his cheeks and brow. His beard is so overgrown and so unkempt that if he were to braid it, it would be an improvement!

He glances ahead and looks back to me, raising his brows. "Dinnae tell me ye lost yer voice again!?" he teases.

Damn it all, here I am skiing alongside him staring dumbfoundedly at him! What must he think!? "I still have my voice!" My voice is still raspy, but I sounded even better than before! Somehow, I manage to tear my eyes from him and look at the path ahead, my cheeks blazing. At least I have the scarf shielding my cheeks, and the path ahead of us is still smooth and clear. "You have raised a host of questions that need answering! The few questions of mine which you answered have only raised more questions! I just couldn't decide which question to ask first! There's so many!"

"Really!?" He chortles proudly. "Such as!?"

I smile beneath my scarf, my chapped lips brushing against the wool. It seems I've won this one. I'd be a fool to not capitalize on every moment of Eric's happy, permissive mood. Goodness, where to start—oh! "Ylva!" I say.

"What!?" he asks me, surprised. Against my better judgement, I glance at him out of the corners of my eyes, his eyes wide with shock.

I shake my head at him and look ahead at the still mercifully clear path. "That night at Jerome and Annabelle's, you told me you found your horse and said no more about it! You can imagine what kind of questions that leaves. Then that morning, before the sun is even up, you practically drag me out of their warm house to these two horses tethered to the fence. I get the stubborn old boy while you get this beautiful black mare! You greeted her and she greeted you like…" My eyes drift to him. The surprise has faded from his eyes, something more thoughtful in them. He said he found his horse, meaning he either lost her awhile back or she ran away. "I know you sent her away because of this weather, but when you found her, how long had it been since you last saw her!?" My confidence takes a sudden blow. I know what I'm trying to ask. I just can't seem to order the words sensically. "Do you understand what I'm trying to ask?"

Eric frowns at me and looks at the journey ahead. "Aye, I know what yer askin'!" He sighs, a puff of white air billowing out of his mouth. "It had been three years since I last saw her." His voice is softer and harder to hear over the modest distance between us. My gut twists while my heart stings with guilt. Perhaps I'm prying too much. I've touched upon something dear to him. Perhaps something he does not wish to share with someone who is really no more than a stranger.

"I'm sorry." I do not have to raise my voice so much for him to hear me. The wind is nearly still save for the chilly breeze we create by moving along our skis.

Eric glances at me. "Sorry for what? Ye did nothin' wrong."

I shake my head. "I'm nothing more than a stranger to you—"

"Ye're nae stranger." He gives me a faint smile. "No' after all we've been through."

Silence settles over us. My mangled heart grows quiet. A true, tender smile lightens my mouth. "We haven't been through that much." It doesn't seem like we have, anyways.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Maybe no' for ye, but more has happened to me in these last two weeks than in the last two years!"

"Hmm," I hum appreciatively and nod, my smile staying easily. "Well, when you put it like that, then it is the same for me. To go from a dank cell to being out in the world…" I shrug.

He chuckles again. "Aye, and to go from gettin' blind stinkin' drunk in a backwoods tavern every night to bein' out in the world…" He shrugs his broad shoulders, imitating me.

We laugh together—light, empathetic, companionable laughter. For once, I feel that someone is at my side, with me, my path ahead no longer mine alone to walk. Ever since Ravenna's betrayal, I have felt so alone. Hell, before Ravenna became as a mother to me, I felt so alone! William would only be there for a few months at a time, yet part of William felt...separate from me. Wessel was the closest thing I had to a brother, and he—no, I won't think of that traitor! I grit my teeth, the corners of my smile growing weary. With how busy Papa and Mama always were, Mama failing to tell us she was ill until it was too late to save her...I often felt alone wandering the castle halls. Yes, the halls were always bustling, but I always felt separate from it, like I was some ghost who was passing through on her way to...somewhere. Now, my life has direction and purpose. And God, how have I been blessed with such a guide and companion as Eric?

Our laughter ebbs, but our smiles remain. His eyes are such a rich blue, almost like the blue zircons I had encrusted into my jewelry and gowns. I miss the apple orchard. What I wouldn't give to be able to return there and climb to the very top of my favorite apple tree to enjoy the cool breeze and smell the sweet apple blossoms and ripening apples. Memories past of emerald green leaves enter my mind. The sun shone through their membranous skins. The sky was pure blue above them. Many times I held my blue zircon bracelets up to the sky to compare them, recalling stories Ravenna read to me about this world's creation. I could just imagine the sea which was the sky and it surrounded the earth. God, it must have been beautiful with the sun shimmering through the sky's waters during the day and the stars twinkling at night. But of course we sinned, so in order to restore goodness to the earth, the Maker split open the sky and the earth. So much water came from above and below the earth that all land was flooded and most life drowned. I suppose, in a strange way, it parallels how Eric's Casieal spun the earth and stirred up the waters.

In this pallid and sallow world, I treasure Eric's blue eyes. They no longer seem foreign, but rather a precious gift, a reminder of the blue sky that I have not seen for fourteen years.

Eric clears his throat. "Is there somethin' on my face?'' he asks with a smug grin.

My heart falters and my cheeks warm despite the winter chill. I shake my head and quickly say, "Your eyes are very blue."

A chuckle cracks his grin while his brows furrow. "Aye, and?"

My stomach knots. It feels so strange to comment on his physical beauty...but why not tell him? He told me I have a beautiful smile. Surely, this won't irk him. Why would a compliment irk him?

Despite this logic, my smile quivers and wanes while the moths in my stomach flutter about. I look ahead, the land still nearly flat and clear save for the occasional slight up and down, like sailing across a calm sea. "This land is so dismal, colorless..." I look about the world. There's a few pine trees spattered here and there, frosted snow clinging to their sickly brown needles. Not one of them bears a pine cone. I sense the small glimmer of life still clinging to this land—similar to how Eric senses evil. I dare not reveal this to him, though. The ability to sense life is part of the power Ravenna shared with me. I do not wish to experience his reaction firsthand to the dark truth of me welcoming evil into my heart.

My mangled heart grows heavy. Somehow, I feel partly responsible for this land's current state...my land. My home.

With a heavy heart, I say, "This land is nearly dead. Its body is dying, but its soul is fighting it. It does not want to leave. It does not want its life to end...just like that poor horse. I tried to pull him out of the mud pit! He wanted to live, I could see it in his eyes! But the fear...it consumed him...and then killed him."

"Evil is advancin' on this land quickly,'' Eric says. I glance at him. His eyes are heavy with pity, but not mourning. This land is not his, after all. "It disnae have much longer to live."

Fear and panic surge through me. "What!?"

He nods somberly. "Yer right about this land clingin' to the last of its life. Death is unnatural. Those who say otherwise are foolin' themselves! If death was natural, then nae one would fear it when it comes for them, but they fear it, and sometimes they fight it. Jus' like that poor horse did."

"Can you...sense life?" I ask, shivering in my boots.

His brows furrow, his gaze narrowing with scrutiny. "What do ye mean?"

I swallow. Damn my curiosity! I must be careful to not reveal myself. "I mean can you sense life like you can sense evil? How do you know that this land is going to die soon!?"

He frowns, his scrutiny abating. For now. "All ye have to do is look around ye to know that this land is dyin'!" His harsh words sting my heart. I can't help but wince.

He sighs, his face softening. "I'm sorry, lass. Nae, I cannae sense life, if that's even somethin' someone can do. All I know is that when evil moves swiftly, death quickly follows."

"How quickly!?" I don't want my land to die! I don't want that on my head! But what can I do to prevent it!? It took three years of my life just to revive a pathetically small piece of land! And only for three measly years!

His frown deepens and he shakes his head again, that same damn pity in his eyes, but no mourning! That angers me. "I dinnae know. It could be years, months, weeks, days—"

"DAYS!?" I balk at him.

He sighs in exasperation. "It could be days or it could be years! Yer askin' me questions I dinnae know the answers to!" He glances at the path ahead and looks back to me, his harsh expression softening. "I wish I knew the answers to all yer questions, if the answers would give ye some peace."

The softness, the sympathy, the sadness in his rich blue eyes all reach out and touch my mangled heart, lessening my anger until it disappears. Still, I must know. "Do you mourn this land's coming death? This isn't your land...is it? You said you come from the north."

He draws in a silent breath, raising his strong chest and shoulders, his eyes remaining soft and sympathetic. "Aye, I come from the north, but I've lived in this land for the last twenty-two years. I pity this land's death, but…" He shakes his head and looks at the journey ahead. "It's hard to feel at home in a place where ye have nae family."

My mangled heart hurts more. Hurting for him and for my land. "I have no family left, yet this land is my home," my voice cracks on those last two words, the sting of tears in the back of my throat and in my eyes.

Eric looks at me, his eyes full of that same pity and sympathy. "I'm sorry, lass." He perks up a little, shifting the air towards a lighter direction. It's abrupt and uncomfortable, almost out of place. "Am I yer friend?" he asks me.

My eyes widen, my balance upon my skis coming into question. I manage not to topple over, but I can't shake the abruptness of such a...sudden question. "Are...wh–are you my friend!?"

He nods. "Aye. We both dinnae have family, but sometimes friends...they're jus' as good as family." He smirks. "Sometimes better. A friend of mine once told me that friends are the family ye can choose...like Sara." His shoulders fall, but he said her name with a comfort that he originally did not have. "She was my family, lass, and she was my best friend. After all the shite that ye and I have been through together—" I can't help but laugh at his cussing. My laughter spreads to his lips and brings out that wonderful, unique timbre of his laughter. Our laughter comes and goes, but a faint smile remains with him.

"Yer my friend," he says, his smile growing. My eyes widen. I'm...his friend? He continues, "I care about ye. I dinnae want any harm to come to ye, and I'll do all I can to make sure it disnae."

My mangled heart stutters, so warped with guilt that it is unsure whether beating again is wise. Yet, it beats again, and again, bolder and harder for the man skiing beside me. "You're my friend, too," I say.

We share a painstaking smile, so tender and sweet that it hurts my face.

All too soon, his tender smile breaks with his question. "What were ye sayin' about my blue eyes?"

"Oh!" I gasp, hot blood flushing my cheeks. He raises his brows at me and chuckles. God, say something! Anything! This truth is not going to reveal your dark truths! "Your eyes, they, uh–remind me of the, uh–um..." I point up at the dreary clouds, losing that one word.

He glances up and looks back down to me, laughing. "The sky?"

"Yes! Yes! That!" I giggle nervously. My stomach is so knotted and my heart is stumbling about like a man in the dark. "It's been so long since I've seen anything so blue! I–I miss it."

His chuckling ebbs to a sad smile. "I wish I could see my eyes, then. I'd like to be reminded of the blue sky." He laughs suddenly and jests, "Where's a mirror when ye need one!?"

Another bout of laughter blooms between us, our laughter echoing throughout this dying land.

"Well, perhaps you could use the iron of your hatchets or your knives as a," I shrug, "an impromptu mirror."

"What!?" He looks at me, big eyed, laughing.

"I don't know, I was only suggesting it!"

Despite the sadness and death surrounding us, we manage to push against it with our laughter, our joy…and our lives. We draw closer together, eager to keep our joy alive, but we keep the minimal distance between us to ensure we don't entangle our skis. How I want to reach out and take his hand, but I cannot risk throwing us both off balance.

Soon our laughter grows tired, yet he keeps glancing at me and I at him, both of us yearning for more shared words, and hopefully more shared laughter.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I say, "but could you tell me about Ylva?" His smile shrinks, but he does not seem as reserved this time. "Is she alright right now?"

"She's fine." He nods, his smile completely gone, but there's an openness in his eyes that wasn't there when I first mentioned her. "Ylva is also my friend. She came with me from the north. I've known her all my life."

My eyes widen. "All your life!? Horses only live for about thirty years, if they're blessed! How many years do you have?"

Eric looks to the path ahead, raising his brows. "Thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven!?" My eyes grow impossibly big. My God, I knew he had more years than me, but not fourteen, fifteen more!

He chuckles and peeks at me out of the corners of his eyes, his laughter quivering and higher pitched. "Too old for ye?" he asks. My heart misses a beat. He looks at me fully, his laughter steadying before it dies. "Ylva's special." His voice deepens to its natural pitch. His words before, his – nervousness, if that's what it was, lingers in my mind. "Ylva was my mother's horse also."

"Your...mother's horse? How many years does Ylva have!?" Somehow, I'm fully engaged, but his four words, whether they were a hesitant jest or something else, I can't ignore the implications of it.

Eric chuckles. "First, are ye familiar with the dwarves?"

That poor old dwarf threatens to surface, but I think of a swift answer to his question instead of allowing the nightmarish thought to emerge. "Aren't they all dead now? A once powerful civilization that was conquered by men when they tried to conquer us?"

He raises his brows. "Is that what they told ye!? Aye, they were all conquered, and the survivors were enslaved," he says, sadness filling his eyes.

My eyes bug out. "What!? I remember there was a dwarf in – King Magnus' council, but he was so old...he must have been the last of his kind. He surely must be dead now. And we enslaved them!? How could we have done that to them when we were once slaves!?" My gut wrenches. How vile! There's no way! "I'm sorry, but I cannot imagine my grandparents, my great grandparents, nor yours, doing such a horrible thing to another people, even if the dwarves did assault us first!"

"My ancestors have nothin' to do with yer people's history," he says. "It was yer ancestors who attacked the dwarves first. I'm no' fond of the wee bastards, but I can tell ye right now yer ancestors attacked first without any provokable cause…other than their own greed," he sneers. I cannot help but frown. To think that he sees my ancestors as greedy…and evil. "The dwarves fought back as best they could, but even with all their advanced weapons and armor, it was hard to fight back when so many of them were already slaughtered in their sleep. Yer ancestors felt great shame about this, aye, but instead of tryin' to learn from it, they tried to cover it up!" He scoffs. "They burned any texts that talked of the dwarves' enslavement. They made any mention of the truth punishable by tortrue and death." He shakes his head in disdain. "I've got another shocker for ye. They're no' all dead."

"Th-–" words nearly leave me, but I manage to spit out "—where are they now, then?"

"They're around, but they keep their heads low. That's why no' many have seen them." He sucks in a deep breath, something shifting in his face, something...gentler. "My mother was a devoted historian and explorer."

My heart softens and aches. "Your mother?" What does his mother have to do with the dwarves and their whereabouts and their past enslavement…by my wicked ancestors?

He nods once and looks ahead. "Aye. More than studyin' her ancestors' history, she loved explorin' dwarven ruins. I've been to alot of places, lass, and met many historians, but none of them knew close to what my mother knew about the dwarves." A faint, heavy smile spreads his lips, his eyes both focused on the path ahead yet also absorbed in old memories. "It wasnae their gold that the dwarves locked away in their strongest vaults, but their knowledge." He glances at me. "My mother told me about the incredible thin's they built. Golden crossbows that dinnae need bolts, knives that come out of yer wrists, armor that cannae be crushed or pierced by any of our weapons, tools that can be used to heal wounds that would be mortal to us, whole machinations that can put all the stars into one room!"

My eyes widen. I glance ahead to ensure the path is still clear. The ground is more uneven now, requiring more of my muscles to keep my balance. I don't think I can spare him as many looks as I have been greedily enjoying these last few moments. I spare him another greedy look. "See, I ask you one question and you raise a thousand more!"

He laughs. "Aye, and I'm about to raise another thousand. Ylva was nearin' the end of her life. My mother had been carryin' me at the time. She didnae want me born into a world without Ylva. So, she was able to acquire an ancient dwarven machination and prolong Ylva's life with it."

This all seems too fantastic to be true...but Eric does not lie. "What machination!?" What is a machination!?

He smiles faintly. "I have my suspicions, but I'm not sure what she used to prolong Ylva's life. After she did that, though, she put another dwarven machination in my head and in Ylva's head."

"What!?"

His smile grows while he raps his finger against his temple. "This'll sound insane to ye, but Ylva and I are connected by this machination. She knows my thoughts and I know hers." Eric laughs at my big eyes and gaping mouth. "I know how strange this all sounds! I barely believe it myself, but it was six days ago that Ylva reestablished our connection. The day I went out with Jerome to help him with his goats, Ylva found me...and I found her." His laughter is gone, only a grateful smile on his face. "There's nothin' sweeter than bein' reunited with an old friend." Something flashes across his eyes and he looks ahead suddenly, hiding whatever that was from me. His smile leaves him.

"She's sixty-nine years old," he finally answers.

Surprisingly, I'm not surprised by that. Somehow, Eric's mother prolonged Ylva's life with some ancient dwarven machination—whatever a machination is. The ancient dwarves are quite fascinating and full of mystery, but no one ever claimed the things Eric just claimed about the ancient dwarves and my ancestors. Though…

"I – lived in the castle growing up," I say, very cautious about the words I choose. I divert my eyes to the path ahead, doing my best to hide anything in my face that could give me away. "When I would be cleaning the linens, I would hear our scholars whisper amongst themselves about the dwarves." Half lie. I was not supposed to be cleaning the linens, but seeing the women work so hard...I felt guilty standing around them doing nothing but conversing with them, so I would help in any sneaky way I could. Pick up a basket here, fold a linen there. I heard all the talk, regardless. "A scholar once uttered slaves and dwarves in the same sentence, but then he was quickly hushed by his fellow scholars." My heart turns sour—and now bitter. "I never saw him after that."

Eric scoffs. "Poor bastard."

"God," I say. We...it hurts dearly to face it, but how can I refute it? My ancestors…we first tried to wipe out an entire people. Then we enslaved the grieving survivors. They must have been freed from slavery at some point in time, though. The court invited that dwarf into Papa's council…which was only after weeks of Papa's persistence. I remember him fighting with the court day after day to get their approval for that dwarf to join his council. Eventually, the court grew weary of Papa's persistence and granted him his request, but "only to shut him up," I once heard a noble mutter. Anger fills my chest just as it did those fourteen, fifteen years ago when I heard that despicable comment. I wish I had said something to that bastard then, but I was scared. I was a little girl, the princess! I was supposed to carry myself with quiet dignity. I kept silent because I wanted to please Papa. I scoff. I knew then as I know now. That's all a damn excuse! I was a coward then, just like I am now. I sigh and take a few slow, deep breaths and release them just as slowly. My cowardice is neither here nor there right now.

While I'm not surprised by Ylva's old age, what I am taken aback by is the reluctance and...well, the past pain that Eric shared with me. I frown. Already he has shared so much with me. Perhaps too much for him. Of course, he has raised thousands upon thousands of questions again! They are questions that I'll probably never get the answers to.

Eric's mother...my heart grows a steady, strong, consistent ache. She sounds nothing like my mother. A historian? An explorer? I've never heard of a woman being either of those things, but perhaps women in the north have more freedoms than we women do here? And God, the way he spoke of her, it sounds...it sounds as though she's dead now. Is she? Or did I misunderstand him? He has thirty-seven years now, so if his mother only passed a year or two ago, it's not an outrageous age to lose one's mother. Parents dying before their children is the natural order of things—damn it, Eric won't see it that way! He said that death is unnatural. So, how young was his mother when she died? How did she die?

The terrain grows rougher, the occasional lumps in the ground growing into small hills. I'm certain these small hills will grow into bigger hills. Perhaps eventually mountains. Steep, rocky mountains with sheer drops. My heart quivers and shrinks. Tabor, along with all her rolling plains that were once so fertile, is surrounded by vast mountain ranges. "A natural wall to safeguard us," Wessel once said. I shake my head of the traitor and try to soothe the terrible sting in my heart.

"Your mother—" How do I word this without assuming that she is dead? My stomach knots. It's dangerous, but many people share the same names as others. "My mother's name was Eleanor." I glance at him out of the corners of my eyes to see his reaction.

He looks at me fully, his eyes widening. "Really?" he asks, surprised.

My gut stirs. Why the surprise? There's no hint of scrutiny nor suspicion in his eyes. Merely...surprise. "What about your mother? Her–her name?" I wince. Not the most elegant words I've ever said. I succeeded in not making any explicit assumptions, though something inside me is pretty certain that she is dead.

His face falls some. "Elli," he says.

My eyes widen while a sting enters my heart. "Elli!? Eleanor and Elli...those names sound similar. If not the same!" I turn my head to look at him fully. My worry eases. A small smile lightens my mouth. "Elli," I say her name again. It's easy on my tongue, soothing to my ears, and gentle on my heart. Sweet memories of happier days come back to me. "Those close to my mother would call her Elli. I love that name. It's beautiful."

A smile spreads Eric's mouth, his eyes softening with something endearing. "Aye...I wish ye could've met her." My heart sinks. So, she is dead. "She would've liked ye."

I laugh. "Are you certain about that?" I look at the journey ahead, my heart heavy with his sorrow. "I wouldn't seem like some brainwashed sheep to her for believing that the dwarves attacked us first despite the suppression of the truth that I saw and willfully ignored!?"

"Aye, I'm certain," he says, not missing a beat. That pulls my eyes to his against my will, ensnaring me in their icy blue depths. I can't stop the thought from crossing my mind. What would his eyes look like if they were consumed with lust for me? Would they blaze like the flames in his eyes from last night? There was something else burning in his eyes other than the fire. What were they? The flames of hell? The fire of the battle he fought and continues to wage with Maacthis?

He offers me a bigger smile. "Like me, my mother wouldnae have cared about what ye believe. Yer willin' to listen to others who differ from ye." His smile grows even bigger. "Yer a thoughtful lass. That's very rare. Our world would be alot better off if we had more people like ye in it."

Heat fills my cheeks, but my face falls. If he knew my four dark truths, I doubt he would be saying all these flatteries. "I appreciate your sentiment, though I doubt the world would be better off with more people like me in it."

The corners of his smile twitch, wanting to drop, but he keeps his smile up. "Dinnae doubt yerself. I see the goodness in yer heart, remember?"

I snort. "How do you see it? Like I do a good deed and you see the goodness of that deed?"

"Ahh…" He shrugs and looks ahead. "Partly, but it's more than that. It's...hard to describe it in a way ye'd understand. Ye'd only truly understand if ye could see yer heart through my very blue eyes." He glances at me, a mischievous grin on his face.

"You're terrible!" I chide him playfully. He laughs and looks ahead. I can't help but laugh with him, feeling that light, giddy weight in my knotted stomach. That light, giddy feeling weaves itself throughout my body, making me feel unusually light and bold. Keeping my balance in my shins and minding the sharpened end of my long stick, I raise it and swing it forward to gently swat him in the back—a hill appears under his skis, raising him above my intended target! In the blink of an eye, my stick lands a decisive blow to his ass! "Oh God!" I squeak, retracting my long stick immediately!

Eric's laughter stops and he looks back to me, his very, very blue eyes wide with shock.

My cheeks flush with a terrible, sinful heat, his bare, tanned, muscular thighs flashing across my mind! Hot blood floods my loins, burning me painfully. "I–I'm so sorry, I didn't–I...oh God," I groan and hide my face from him.

Laughter bursts from the depths of his chest, scorching my ears despite this frigid winter. "Did ye mean to hit my arse!?"

"No, no, God no!" I shake my head fervently. "A hill just appeared under your skis, it threw off my target! I meant to gently, playfully tap your back!"

He laughs harder, merciless to my broiling embarrassment. He looks ahead and almost doubles over, holding one arm to his stomach as he glides along the snow. "I love it!" he says between breathless laughter, glancing back at me. "I love," he sucks in a breath, "havin' ye around!" His laughter starts to ebb. He manages to take his arm from his stomach and straighten his back. "So innocent!" he says, the last of his laughter dying, but it leaves behind an unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

My eyes widen. He doesn't need to say it. He remembers what I told him back at Jerome and Annabelle's farm. Damn it all, why does he keep insisting that I'm so innocent!? I'm not innocent. Far from it. I've never been with a man intimately, but my heart, my mind, my spirit–-all tainted with this horrible, sinful desire for Eric's goodness...and the feel of his naked body against mine. Yet I cannot shake that terrible dream I had last night. He did not see my pathetic breasts, but he saw the mangled heart beating beneath them. He saw the sin, the deceit...the lie. He turned his back on me and left me to die. As he should rightly do so, but surely, he is still a man. He said as much when he explained why he didn't kill me back in that dark forest! Surely, I would be a night of pleasure to him and nothing more. I wouldn't hurt him in any way. There's no love between us. There is some trust and friendship, but nothing more! He would have a pleasurable experience and be left untouched! Surely.

That bold look leaves his eyes, but his jovial smile stays. "There's a wee lake down there that may have some fish! See!" He points ahead of us, drawing my eyes in that direction. The ground slopes down towards a small basin of black ice some ways ahead. My brows furrow, though I hardly forget my determination to at least know his goodness once in the most intimate way before death finds me. He did say, "Too old for ye?" Surely he knows the implications of such a statement. How could I ever bring myself to broach that, though?

"What do you mean!? How will you get the fish out of the lake when they're under ice!?"

Eric glances back at me, grinning proudly. "I'm gonna teach ye how to fish outta the ice!"

My eyes almost bug out of my head. What!?

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

It's not long before we reach the snowy bank of the lake.

"Stay here. I'll go check the ice," he says, unstrapping his feet from his skis. He stabs his long stick and his skis into the snow and drops all his packs on the ground. He carefully treks his way down the snowy bank. I bite my lower lip. My stomach knots as I watch him reach the border of the lake and take his first step out onto the ice. He stops there. Despite all the snow that has covered the land, the black ice is completely free of snow and flat.

"This wee lake isnae well known, but the locals call it Delaney Lake, or the Black Lake." He gestures to the black ice. "See how black the ice is?" He looks back at me. "That's a good sign. It's clear ice, meanin' it formed recently. Clear ice is the strongest ice. If the ice is grey, it's older and weaker. If the ice has snow on it, it's also weaker. Remember that."

Despite his knowledgeable words, my heart goes to the brink. He looks ahead at the frozen black lake and takes another step. The creaking of the ice beneath his boots, the cracking of the too thin ice above those dark, frigid waters, the warning vision of those dark, frigid waters swallowing him, the current dragging him away so that he cannot breach for air—I can't help but shuffle my skis to get closer to Eric.

He looks back at me, his brows furrowing with reprimand. "Stay there!" He gestures harshly to the bank, halting me.

"Eric, please, I don't like this! The thought of you!—" I shake my head, trying to banish all those nightmarish premonitions. "Just come back! We have enough food! We can find a deer or something else! Something on the safety of solid ground! We don't need some frost-bitten fish!"

"I've done this many times, lass! I've only fallen in once!"

My heart leaps into my throat. "WHAT!?"

"Damn, why'd I say that!?" he says to himself, looking away and scowling.

I shake my head at him, panic and anger tightening my chest. "Eric, you're a smart, cautious man!" That draws his scowling gaze back to me. "I never took you as a–you're not invincible! Please, if you fall in—"

"If I fall in!" He throws his arms out. "Life is full of if's!" He drops his arms, smacking the sides of his leather coat. "Ye cannae live yer life in fear!"

"You cannot risk it so senselessly, either!" I yell across the frozen lake, my fists clenching my long stick.

Silence settles in the great space between us. His hideous, scowling face starts to recede, slowly allowing more of his calm, handsome self to return. I shake my head at him. Is he trying to impress me or something? Why is he so persistent on some damn ice fishing!?

Eric frowns at me. "I'm no' senseless," he says, his voice softer despite the stone's throw separating us. "We need food."

"But surely there must be other safer ways than this!?" I hold my gloved hand out towards the lake. Please Eric, come back and take my hand.

His frown deepens. "This is the best way I know of right now." He looks me over, from my head down to my feet and slowly back up to my face. He forces a small smile...for me. "I may no' have to go out too far! We start near the bank," he turns and points out to the lake, "test the thickness of the ice, and carefully work our way out if we dinnae catch fish outta our first hole!" He lowers his hand and looks back to me, still maintaining his forced smile. His words barely comfort me.

"How long will this fishing excursion take!?" I ask him. "Am I to sit here on the shore the whole time you risk your life out there?"

My questions dampen his forced smile. He sighs. "Nae, no' the whole time. Ye stay ashore until I'm sure the ice is safe."

My heart sinks back into my chest, but instead of leaping out of my throat, it tries to break past my ribs with each pounding beat. "If I lose you to this damn lake...I won't forgive you!"

He lifts his chin a bit, the depressed air slowly leaving him. Despite the distance, his eyes are locked with mine, both mulling over something and keeping me in his sight.

Finally, he nods. "Fair enough! Wait there!" He holds his hand up to emphasize his command and tears his eyes from mine, turning back to the expanse of the frozen lake. He takes one step...and another...and another, drawing farther and farther from me. I cling to my long stick with all my might and lean into it for support. Please God, I know you never answer my prayers, but if you are to answer one, anyone, answer this one. Keep that ice strong beneath Eric's feet. Do not let it break beneath him. Please.

He takes another step...and another...to think that back in Hymark, I told Geoffrey that Eric's life is inconsequential to me. To think that I said I would not shed a tear over him if someone dropped his limp body in front of me…things have changed so much. That man trekking across the ice, each step uncertain, each step risking his own life, to merely find food for us...

Eric stops and looks back at me, his eyes ensnaring mine. He smiles at me and raises his arm near his head—waving at me three times. I cock my brows at him. He stops waving, drops his arm, and shakes his head at me, his smile growing with genuine amusement. Oh, he...he wants me to wave back? I glance at my hand and yank it from my long stick. I raise my arm part way but stop. Does he want me to wave back? God, it couldn't hurt. Could it? I look back at him from under my lashes, his face still full of mirth. This is weird, but what have I got to lose? I tuck my hand close to my face and wave back to him, unable to hide the smile spreading my lips.

His grin grows and his shoulders shake with his silent laughter. I, too, giggle softly, only for my ears to hear. Somehow, seeing his silent laughter and hearing my giggle soothes my fears some. I return my hand to my long stick. God, the sooner I can join him out on this cursed lake, the better.

Eric turns back and takes a few more steps before he stops and pulls his hatchet out from under his coat. I perk up and cling more to my long stick. What is he going to do?

He sinks to one knee on the ice, his coat draping over his strong body...almost like a big brown bear sitting down. He arcs his hatchet up into the air—oh God!

"ERIC!—" The ice cracks beneath his powerful swing!

He whips his head back to me, his eyes wide with alarm. "Ye alright!?" he calls to me, his eyes scanning all along the bank before finally settling on me. He huffs a breath of relief, white smoke billowing out of his mouth.

"I'm fine! What the hell are you doing!?" He's not stupid! Why is he chopping at the ice with his hatchet!?

His eyes fall shut with his laughter. "Ye must think I'm off my head choppin' the ice like this!?" He opens his eyes and meets my gaze. God, he said nearly the same exact thing when he was chopping at the wall of that broken down cabin we spent the night in!

Frustration pricks me. "Now that you mention it, yes, I'm questioning your sanity at this moment!"

He laughs harder, taking no offense to my cruel words. "I've no' just lost my head! I needed to test the thickness of the ice, and it's pretty thick! I'm gonna cut a hole in the ice here so we can get to the fish!"

"O...oh," I say, hot blood flushing my cheeks. I bring my scarf over my nose and mouth and shout across the lake, "Please be careful!"

He grins smugly at me. "Ye have my word!" He turns his attention back to the ice and brings his hatchet down on it again. CRACK! Fear jolts me. He raises his hatchet and brings it down on the ice. CRACK! My body jolts again, my heart hammering the brittle anvil of my sternum. Up goes the hatchet, the scuffed blade catching a bit of light. Down it goes. CRACK! Another jolt of fear, but my body jumps less. CRACK! Smaller jolt. CRACK! My feet bounce, but nothing more. There he still is safely above the ice. He hacks away at the ice like a madman, each crack sounding less harsh and more...mushy.

He sheathes his hatchet beneath the folds of his coat and reaches down. He draws his hands back up and sets aside a thick block of ice! The block of ice slides across the lake's frozen surface a small ways before slowing and stopping some feet from Eric. Eric stands suddenly and turns, trekking his way cautiously back to the bank.

"Alright, lass!" he says, each step he draws closer to me soothing my frightened heart more and more. Finally, he reaches the bottom of the snow bank and starts climbing up the snow bank to me, his eyes failing to stray from mine. I heave a breath of relief. My taut, sore muscles start to unravel. He stops before the top of the bank, the downward slope putting his head at the same height as mine.

He smiles at me and gestures down to my skis. "Take off yer skis and grab my satchel." He points to all his packs he had dropped on the snow. Resting there beside his heavy rucksack and my satchel is his leather satchel.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask him while I crouch low and pull off my gloves, tucking them safely into my belt.

"I've ne'er been more sure about anythin' in my life."

I stop for a brief moment to look up at him, raising my brows at him. "Really?" I remark sarcastically. He looks down at me, his eyes strangely dark. He chuckles, his chuckling strangely husky. The husky sound burns my ears and heats my blood, stealing away every sardonic pang in me.

"I'm sure," he says, his voice gruffer and huskier. I can't help the heat that flows into my loins, waking up every nerve ending there. I shift, the seam of his trousers grazing across my overly sensitized nerves, sending small ripples of pleasure into the depths of my belly. My cheeks burn terribly and I cast my eyes down to my feet. I start untying the leather strappings with trembling fingers. What am I going to do!? I want this man! Dearly. Damn the years that separate us! The way he has squeezed my shoulders, my arms, the side of my neck, my waist with his strength, yet also so gently...my life is already cut so short. I question if I even have weeks left. All I have known is evil these last fourteen years and great stretches of loneliness my whole life! Is it so wrong to want to cling to a good man? To feel him moving, breathing, living in every part of me just once? Is it!?

Somehow, despite my trembling fingers, I manage to free my feet from my skis. What a relief it is to have my feet free of the heavy wood planks! I mimic what Eric did to his skis and stab them into the snow beside my long stick. I fight to keep my eyes averted. His gaze burns into the back of my head as I shuffle through the snow to his satchel and scoop it up by its strap. It's heavy! It doesn't look that full!

I examine his satchel as I clamber through the snow his way. The leather is a modest brown, the seams held together with expert stitchwork. Too tempted, I brush my frozen fingers along the grey fur trimmed flap, each fur toughened with its sleekness, similar to the smooth scales of a fish, but also soft. There is some beadwork on the front of the satchel, forming strange shapes, though a few are distinctly the shapes of bears. I smirk as I reach him, but I dare not look up at him.

"Find somethin' amusin'?" he asks me, his tone light with a smile.

"You really like your bears." I trace my fingertips over the chilled, smooth beadwork of a bear ambling across the leather. "It's beautifully crafted."

"Aye. My mother made that for me when I was a wee lad."

That pulls my wide eyes to him. "Oh!" I look down at his satchel again. I shouldn't be holding this. It's too hallowed to be in such sinful hands. "Here." I hold his satchel out to him, finding it too difficult to raise my eyes to his.

"Ye can carry it if ye'd like," he says, so gentle, so kind.

"No, no! Please take it!" I shake my head, keeping my eyes on my boots half submerged in the snow. "It's very heavy."

He sighs disappointedly. "Alright." He takes his satchel from my grasp and lifts the strap over his head. "Com'on," he says, holding his empty, bear-sized hand out to me. I lift my chin a little to see his hand more fully. My gut twists with warning. Now it is my turn to trek out across the ice with him.

"I'm…" My legs grow wobbly. I look up at him from the cover of my lashes. "I'm not sure I want to walk across that ice."

He frowns and lowers his hand some. "Ye dinnae have to if ye dinnae want to." His hand drops to his side, his shoulders slumping. "I just wanted to teach ye how to fish outta the ice. Give a lad a fish, ye feed him for a day. Teach a lad to fish, ye feed him for a lifetime...the choice is yers."

My heart sinks. I did not mean to disappoint him. He really wants me to join him out on that scary sheet of ice. My eyes shift to the thick block of ice he had chopped. It just sits out there idly on the smooth, icy surface. It seems so calm and at peace, safe from all that would seek to shatter it. My breath leaves me, my chest deflating while my eyes return to Eric.

His eyes shift back and forth in mine, waiting patiently for my decision. The hope in his eyes starts to dim. "Jus' stay here then. Maybe get some rest? Yer welcome to anythin' ye find in my sack." He gestures to his rucksack and turns his back to me, starting his trek back down to the icy lake. He takes one step, two steps, three, putting that dreadful distance between us again. Four steps. Five. He reaches the bottom of the snow bank and steps out onto the ice.

My heart leaps into my throat. "Wait!" I start clambering down the snowbank—my stomach drops when my feet are swept from under me and bring me down onto my rump! I slide down the last half of the bank. He stops and turns back, his eyes widening when he sees me.

"What're ye doin'!?" He rushes to me and stoops to me, grabbing my arms and hauling me to my feet.

"Eric…" His name is so bittersweet on my tongue. I lose myself in his rich blue eyes. My hands fall on his chest of their own accord, too weak to cling to his chilly leather vest. "I don't want you to go out there alone again. Seeing you do it the first time…," words nearly abandon me, but somehow I find the rest of them, "...all because you want to teach me how to fish out of the ice!?" I hit his chest with my hand.

He gives me a faint smile and nods. "Aye." His smile grows, his hold of my arms loosening. "Com'on, I've already tested this path." He steps back from me and offers me his hand again. "It's safe."

Already tested this path? How I hate and love those words at the same time. Reluctantly, I place my hand in his.

His smile turns into something heart wrenching and tender. He turns and starts for the hole in the ice, guiding me along while he says, "I'll have ye carve the lure for the fish while I tie the line t—" I yelp, my boots sliding too far along the ice!

"Keep yer feet!—" His words are yanked out of his mouth as I fall, bringing him down with me! My back hits the ice hard. Pain courses up through my back and into the base of my skull. I groan, my eyes squeezing shut in a sorry attempt to push the pain away. Eric's pained groan mingles with mine. Damn it, me and my clumsy feet! Our hands still cling to each other.

"Damn!" he curses through clenched teeth.

"Mmmh!" I hum with pain. "I'm sorry! I should've stayed on the bank!"

He chuckles through his pain. "I'm the one who dragged ye out here! Did ye hit yer head?" He pulls his hand from mine, leaving it to the biting cold! Fear shoots through my stomach, forcing my eyes open—his pained face is here, just over mine! His ribs press on my side as he leans over me, looking me over with concern and care in his eyes. He slips his hand under my head and lifts it off the ice. My back and bottom still sting, but warmth floods my body. His eyes pass over mine and stop on my chin—no, my mouth. That same darkness that colored his eyes before back on the bank colors them now.

He lifts his eyes to mine slowly…and reluctantly? A haze comes over me. My eyes grow heavy. I fight to keep them open. With each breath I take, his scent of leather, earth, and our campfires fills me. His breaths pass his parted lips as faint white clouds, mingling with mine. My chest becomes heavy, making it harder to breathe.

"Eric," his name slips out of my mouth. I cannot think clearly. He's here...now...his eyes dark, blue, dropping and lingering...there...my numb, cracked lips.

He draws closer to me. His breath tickles my chin and the tip of my nose. He's so close. All I see is him. A breath escapes me. My world drifts into a black abyss. Something presses on my mouth, my lips too numb to make out what it is, but it's soft and gentle. Whatever it is, it moves slowly, carefully, shivering. The gentle shivering summons feeling back into my lips in a tingling rush of blood. Through the tingling, I feel the warming chill and the cracked surface of—of his lips!

How...is this really happening? No. I must be dreaming. I must have passed out after I slipped on the ice. I last remember Eric looking over me, worry in his eyes. Then my world started drifting away. All sorts of different sensations came over me—warmth, drunkenness, weakness—then the black abyss found me. But God, I swear I feel his coarse beard pressing on my chin, my cheeks, and the tip of my nose.

He brings my lower lip between his warm lips. I whimper. This cannot be real. His lips are so warm. So wonderfully warm. I must be dreaming. A pang grows in my belly. Will this dream turn into a nightmare as my last dream of him did? I do not want that to happen. No, I cannot let it happen, but how? Cling to him? Kiss him back? God knows every fiber of my body, mind, and soul want me to—He pulls back suddenly. The cold assaults my warmed flesh, snapping me back to the world and the pain still coursing up and down my back. My eyes fly open and stop in his wide, sober ones.

He starts shaking his head, his lips parting and saying, "I'm sorry." He takes his hand from my head and sits up beside me. "That was wrong, I shouldnae have done that!" he says to himself while he grabs my hands and helps us both to our feet. All I can do is stare at him. That was no dream. His lips were on mine, moving, savoring...a kiss...of his own free will.

He barely can bring himself to look me in my eyes. "It'll ne'er happen again. I'm sorry. Try to forget—" He sighs and pulls one hand from mine, but he still keeps a steadying hold of my other hand. "Like that's somethin' ye'll forget," he mutters to himself.

Somehow, I manage to collect myself. My back still hurts like hell, but that is nothing compared to what just happened! Yes, that did happen. He kissed me! Why he stopped so abruptly, I loathe to learn, but that must have meant he desired me before. At least to some degree. Whether he wanted me as I want him—or if he even still wants me—I cannot say.

"Step carefully," he says, taking a step with me, pulling me farther across the ice. He looks ahead at the hole he had carved out of the ice and nods to it, not sparing me a glance. "I'll have ye carve some bait and I'll tie it to the line," he repeats, desperate to return to the moment before he put his lips on mine. Does he truly regret kissing me? "If we dinnae get any bites at this hole, that means the fish are further out in the lake. I'll go farther and cut out another block of ice. The ice is usually thinner at the shallower parts of the lake, makin' it too dangerous to cut into, sometimes even to walk across—"

"Eric." I stop and grab his arm, halting him. He keeps his eyes fixed ahead. His face twitches with flashes of pain, whether from his hard landing on the ice or from his regret or both, I cannot tell. Whatever the cause, a terrible sting lashes my heart.

He shakes his head, intensifying the lashing's sting. "We really should get back to the fishin', lass. We dinnae have all the time in the world—"

"Eric!" My nerves are already broken. "Do you regret..." I almost lose my words, but my swelling anger gives me some more to say. "Am I really so repulsive!?"

"What!?" He looks back at me, his eyes wide with alarm. "What're ye talkin' about!?—"

"Why did you pull away suddenly!? Was it something I did!? Something I did not do!? Am I that revolting to you?—"

"Nae!" He turns to me and grabs my elbow with his free hand. "It's nothin' ye did or didnae do, ye—" he squeezes my elbow and my hand harder, his face twisting with agony. He sighs again, his shoulders dropping. "Yer beautiful." He drops his head. I have never seen him like this, bowing his head in shame, so desperate, so remorseful. "I was weak. I'm sorry. I didnae mean to hurt ye."

My breath leaves me. Beautiful, he called me. Not just my smile, but me. I almost cannot believe it, but I am fairly certain I am awake now. I am sure that I did not dream up his kiss. If he is being completely honest with me now, then...well, he has presented me with the perfect opening to find out how much he wanted me. My heart pounds. Could this really be happening? Was there at least a point where he yearned for my flesh as I do his?

"Do you…" My self-doubt resurfaces. Eric's gaze lifts to mine, hurting, ashamed, but also burning with that same fire as last night. I gulp, forcing a big lump down my throat. My throat aches a little, but it drowns in the crushing pain still coursing through my back and bottom and my heart hanging dangerously over the edge. Frustration pricks me again. Just say it, damn it! You are here with him, both of you hurting from your hard fall and from not knowing each other's feelings for what just happened! The waters are so murky now. If I can clear them, it will bring some peace, whether disappointing or utterly playing to my carnal desires. Just say it!

I suck in a deep breath, my nerve faltering. "Do you want...this?" I nod to myself. Does he understand that this means me? No, it means more than just me. It means him, too. Us. "I mean, did you do what you did because you wanted to? Do you...still want to?"

I bite the inside of my mouth, so on edge, waiting for his answer. I wait...and wait…He just stares at me, dumbfounded! Did I just speak some foreign language and I did not hear it? Did I even speak? My heart starts tipping over the precipice.

"Do you want to kiss me?" I ask, my voice trembling. Trembling from the cold, the fear, or the pressing urge to cry, I cannot say. At least I said it plainly now.

He blinks his eyes a few times, looking as though he just woke up. He clears his throat and parts his mouth. He utters a word, a single syllable, but my ears do not hear it.

I frown. "What did you say?"

He wets his lips with his tongue, his eyes going from my mouth to my eyes. "Aye," he forces out and gives me one strong nod. My jaw drops. My mouth is suddenly dry and thirsting for some ale. He looks down at my mouth. He draws in a deep, powerful breath, filling up his chest and lifting his shoulders. His face hardens, the wrinkles in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes deepening.

He shakes his head and forces his eyes back to mine. "Let me ask ye the same thin's, lass. What do ye want? I willnae force anythin' on ye. Ye want this ne'er brought up again, I willnae say one more word about it. Ye want to hit me for bein' an idiot, hit me! Ye want—"

"I don't want to hit you!"

He frowns. "Then what do ye want? Whate'er it is, I'll do it!" He squeezes my hand and my elbow, the most earnest thing in this world. "I dinnae want to lose yer friendship." His toughened expression falters and slips away from him, his strong grip about me weakening. "But more than that, I dinnae want to lose yer trust," he says softly, pleading so dearly that I half expect him to crumble to his knees. He manages to stay on his feet, but his grip trembles about my hand and elbow.

My heart uplifts. I almost cannot believe it, but he wants this...me. For some reason, he finds me beautiful. He has odd tastes for women since he finds me beautiful. Barely any breasts to hold, little soft fat to cling to, very little of my skin left unblemished by my fourteen years of hell, my terribly cut hair—he has yet to see the horror that I did to my hair and scalp. I wonder if—forbid when—he sees my hair and scalp, will he still desire me as he claims to now? Then again, I recall his words in the dark forest. One can still be beautiful even if she is covered in scars. My heart suddenly sinks. Does he mean beauty of the soul and not of one's flesh? If so, then would not that mean his desire runs deeper than just for my flesh—wait. I have seen his eyes linger on my mouth many times. I have even seen his eyes look over my body, once or twice lingering on my hips and breasts.

I search his blue eyes, looking for anything more than carnal desire. If he wants more from me than just a night of pleasure, then I...I do not think I can do this to him—give him false hope, make him believe in something that will never happen. Yes, hope is beautiful and precious, but I detest false hope. I do not want Eric mourning me when I die. I do not want him hating me all the more when he learns my lies and deceit. I want him left untouched and satisfied. Nothing more. I just want to feel his strength and gentleness all at once—his goodness. I want to be enveloped in it. Surely that is not too much to ask. Surely.

I see those flames burning in his eyes. I believe them to be flames of carnal desire and nothing more. There is trust and friendship in them, too, but nothing beyond that. Good.

A deep frown weighs on his mouth. His eyes are dim with disappointment. "Do ye want me to leave ye be?—"

"No!" I wrench my hand and my elbow from him and throw my arms about his neck. I bend my stiff knees, yanking him down to me with all my weight. I catch a glimpse of the surprise in his widening eyes before my world slips into darkness. I barely brush my lips across his. Nerves consume me. A cold sweat slips out of my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably against him. I...can hardly believe myself. My brazen lust, my audacity, my desperation! I never thought myself so bold in anything, let alone—this! I pictured myself being the reserved and modest one, never initiating such intimacy. I just cannot decide if it is amazing or frightening how far the promise of my impending death has driven me...and how far it will continue to push me until the day I die.

His strong arms wrap around me and pull me into his solid body, so much larger than me, so familiar yet also so foreign. His chilled, cracked lips press on mine again, much fiercer this time. My heart loses all sense, beating erratically, sometimes pounding against my sternum, sometimes beating on my ribs, sometimes shriveling up from expelling too much blood. My arms slacken and my legs go limp. I would fall to the hard ice again if it were not for his arms holding me.

One of his hands moves to cradle the back of my head while the other presses into the small of my back, pushing my hips against his hard, strong thighs. That image of his muscular, tan thighs flashes across the darkness. That stirs all sorts of sinful, carnal thoughts in me. Searing blood swells my loins, causing that terrible, throbbing ache. My hips beg me to thrust against him, but I cannot ignore the near nausea spoiling my stomach...nor the guilt tormenting my heart. It would be too much for me at this moment...and for him too. His hands do not take advantage of my weakened state to venture to my more intimate places. His lips move against mine with fervor, attempting to guide my inexperienced mouth, but that is what this kiss is. It's exciting, but also experience clashing with inexperience. He has called me prudish and declared my innocence more than once. I'm far from innocent in many ways, but in experience of the flesh alone, he is right. He knows this, and he does not push me. He is a man, but also a good man. I know he will not force anything on me.

My chest tightens and my lungs burn. Strength returns to my limbs. No matter how much I do not want to, I slide my hands down to his chest and push against him in an effort to part our mouths, but he chases after me. I almost laugh while I push against his chest more firmly, managing to break us apart. I force my eyes open, meeting his half-lidded gaze. We both pant for air. So much of that damn white smoke escapes our mouths that it partially obscures his face. Despite this, I see the big, toothy, stupid grin that breaks his drunken look. His eyes suddenly gleam with mischief. He steals a hard kiss from me, his lips gone from mine with the blink of my eyes.

He rests his brow against mine, that stupid grin of his failing to leave his pinkened lips. The thought that I was able to summon his life blood back into his chilled mouth, if only for a moment, swells my chest with pride. His stupid grin no longer seems so stupid to me when it spreads my warmed, tingling mouth.

My heart uplifts, so relieved, so...happy. So happy that I cannot contain my laughter. He laughs with me, his strong chest shaking beneath my hands.

He quells his laughter long before mine dies and says with a grin, "This changes thin's."

That sucks the last of my laughter out of me. It also tries to steal my smile, my guilt-ridden heart haranguing me, but I manage to keep some of my silly smile. "So it would seem," I say.

His grin shrinks some. He grabs my jaw and pulls my mouth to his for one more kiss before breaking away, ending the kiss before it even started. He holds my jaw for a brief moment, grazing his calloused thumb back and forth across my chin, his thumb ghosting across the bottom of my lower lip. "Com'on." He steps back out of my reach and takes my hand in his. "Let me teach ye how to fish outta the ice."

That said, he turns and leads me safely to the hole he had chopped out of the ice.

"Watch yer step," he says with a smug grin. "I'm no' sure my arse can take another injury today."

"Eric!" I playfully hit his arm. We burst into such sweet laughter. The laughter of new friends...new friends who have just discovered that they want more from each other than friendship.

He has me sit down before the square-shaped hole he had chopped into the ice. My eyes widen. The hole is much smaller than I originally thought, perhaps no bigger than Eric's fist, but it's very deep and gives a peek at the black waters lapping beneath the ice. Eric sits down beside me, only a breath's space separating us. He pulls his satchel strap over his head, sets it down in his lap, and tosses back the flap, showing me all the smartly stowed contents inside.

He fishes into his satchel—no pun intended—and pulls out a hand-sized block of wood. "Here." He hands the block of wood to me.

My brows furrow, but some of my smile remains. God, I have never smiled so much. I turn over the block of wood in my hands. "What am I supposed to do with this?" I ask, lifting my gaze to him.

He smiles knowingly at me and draws his knife from his overstuffed sheath with a soft ring. He offers me his knife by the hilt. "Carve a wee fish out of that wood with this knife."

I lift my brows at him. "I'm not very artistic," I say, but I take his knife from him.

He chuckles. "So long as it resembles a fish, it'll do." His eyes drop to my mouth. The space between us thickens, that same haziness drowning my mind. My eyes fall shut and I lean towards him, seeking his lips— "Mind yer fingers." His warning halts me and opens my eyes. He just grins smugly at me.

"No kiss?" I ask. This is so unlike me, to be this bold, but I cannot deny how fun it is.

He chuckles with his mouth closed. "Awfully temptin', but," he pauses, his smug grin lessening more and more until it disappears altogether, leaving behind something so tender, so...caring that it wrings my heart. He shakes his head. "I dragged ye out onto this lake for two reasons, and this wasnae one of 'em. Let's get back to the fishin'."

I frown. "What two reasons?"

His eyes brighten with a growing smile, seeming...hopeful? "Ye carve yer fish, and I'll tell ye."

I groan and start whittling my little false fish with the razor-point of Eric's knife. It's a bit different whittling wood than it is whittling bone, but I manage to carve out the vague shape of a fish's rounded head at one end of the wood block. I try whittling in some eyes and a proper mouth, but angling the knife just right presents more challenging than I anticipated. What two reasons did he drag me out here for? One of them is to teach me how to fish out of the ice. He said as much before we fell, but the other? I sigh, my stomach tightening with impatience. I focus all the harder on carving my little fake fish. The sooner I finish whittling this damn fish, the sooner I'll find out. I turn my attention to whittling its tail. A few of the wood shavings land on my skirts while a few others land on the slick ice. One shaving flies far off the hard flick of Eric's knife and lands in the dark waters at the bottom of the hole. Eric rummages through his satchel in my periphery. I slow my aggressive whittling and peek at him out of the corners of my eyes. He ties a long black string to the end of a stick and pulls the string taut, testing its strength.

His eyes go to me and drop to my hands. "Very good," he says, plucking the half finished fish out of my hand!

"I'm not done! The tail—"

"It's good 'nough." He smiles at me and ties my bait to the end of the string.

"Hmph." I shake my head at him. He deemed my shoddy creation sufficient to lure a fish onto the...line? If that's what it's called. Now, back to that other reason. "I know you brought me out here to teach me how to fish. That's obviously the first reason." Eric snorts. "What is the second reason?"

He meets my gaze and holds out the stick to me, my crude fish bait dangling from it. "It's an old tradition where I'm from. Take the line."

"An old tradition?" I don't understand.

"Aye." He nods with a small smile down at the hole in the ice. "Drop yer bait into the water, then dance yer jig a few times and hold it still."

I move my crudely carved bait over the hole. "Dance my jig?" I cast him a sidelong glance, my brows furrowing with both confusion and growing annoyance. I whittled that damn fish bait for seven measly words!?

He smirks, one corner of his paling mouth slightly higher than the other. "Bob yer bait up and down a few times, gently," he says. "Ye dinnae want to scare away any fish. Then hold it as still as possible until one bites."

"Oh," I mutter, the little pinpricks of frustration slowly building to anger. "How do you know you didn't scare away the fish with you chopping at this ice?" I ask him, my mouth wanting so dearly to sneer at him, but I try to be kind. I drop my crude bait into the water with a small splash and bob it up and down gently, dancing the jig. His eyes widen with pleasant surprise while he laughs, my jigging drawing his gaze to my hands. Why is he laughing?

"Easy on the jig," he says. He wraps an arm around my back and grabs my wrists, slowing down the tempo of my bobbing. My heart picks up and my stomach tightens. He lays his chin on my shoulder, putting his mouth beside my ear. "There," he says, his voice low and husky, that single word sending a shiver down my spine and stealing away most of my frustration and every bit of my growing anger. He suddenly chuckles into my ear.

I turn my head and strain my eyes against their sockets to see him. My cheek presses into his chilled cheek and rough beard. "What's amusing you so?" I ask him. My question softens his laughter to silence, though I feel the upturned corner of his mouth pushing into my cheek. Feeling that brings a smile to my lips.

He clears his throat. "It's a stupid thought." He snorts before he recomposes himself. "Forget about it." He stops dancing the jig, but he does not let go of my wrists. Instead, he holds them steady and slowly strokes the backs of my thumbs with his calloused thumbs.

"Hm," I hum aloud. Forget about it, he said. Damn it all, I want to know what he was thinking! I want more than just seven measly words! "Tell me what you were thinking."

"Lass—"

"Don't lass me or I...I'll…" I sigh, my smile dropping. "I...have no threat," I admit begrudgingly. We both laugh, our laughter reverberating down our hands, down the line, and into the inky water, causing small ripples. His laughter ebbs a few beats before mine. He stops stroking my hands and runs his hands up my arms. He hooks his fingers around the bends of my arms and eases my elbows to rest on my thighs. My stomach clenches at the mere sight of his fingers so close to my loins despite the thick layers of Annabelle's cut skirts concealing my lap.

"I said before that it's an old tradition where I'm from. If a lad likes a lass and he's pretty sure she likes him, he sometimes takes her ice fishin'."

"Really?" I ask, intrigued. "Is that why you wanted to show me how to fish out here on this damn ice?" I wince. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to be rude."

"Ye did nothin' wrong. This ice is damnable."

I chuckle—he presses a lingering half kiss to my cheek, stealing my laughter. The way his kiss lingers, like he's silently telling me something so gentle, so tender—He ends his kiss and presses his cheek to mine.

"Yer right about the first reason, rememberin' that I kept sayin' it." He laughs once. "More than anythin', we needed food, and this is the best way I know of right now to get food, but..." I feel the corner of his smile fall. He clears his throat, seeming...hesitant? No, that can't be right. What could he possibly have to be hesitant about? He draws in a deep breath and says softly, carefully, "Part of me wanted to see how ye'd react to me stepping onto the ice."

"What!?" I shake my head. He couldn't be this foolish! With this adolescent reasoning!? "You'd put a poor woman through all that heartache just to see how she reacts to you doing something so foolish!?"

I feel the corner of his mouth drop into a deep, tense frown. "To see if ye care about me."

Guilt whips my heart, leaving a terrible stripe across its mangled surface. To see if I care about him? Of course I care about him! Surely he could gather as much when I called him my friend—He said that he cared about me when he called me his friend. Now, with him telling me about this whole old tradition of taking a woman he likes to ice fish to see if she cares about him...does he mean more than simple care? It can't be love. I saw no love in his eyes. I've never heard it in his voice nor felt it in his touches. Hell, is love something that can be felt, heard, and seen!? I sigh. Whatever the case maybe, I am leading him down this path. I'm not sure how I did this exactly, but it's one I never intended to lead him down. If I tell him that I care about him, that may lead him to hope in something that I can never give him. More than that, it will lead to greater hurt, greater anger...and perhaps greater hate when he finally learns the truth of who I am. Damn it, I should never have even said that he is my friend! If I could take it back, I would, but the best I can do is remind him—me—both of us what our future looks like.

I swallow, my smile having disappeared sometime ago. I have no idea how he'll take this harsh reminder, but it must be spoken for both our sakes. "Eric, remember, this journey is so much more than just you and me." His body stiffens against me and his cheek moves from mine, allowing the bitter cold to slip between us. That causes a terrible sting in my heart, but a necessary one. My God, how similar this is to Hymark. "No, it's not about you and me. It's all about the two promises I made to two women, one already fulfilled, the other still waiting, clinging to hope…" I shake my head, my cheek bumping his. "I detest false hope like you detest lies. I suppose false hope is a lie—a kind of lie, but still we cannot lose sight of why we're here now. I cannot lose sight of why I escaped my fourteen years of imprisonment. For Sara...and for Greta. I will not stop until Greta is free, or at least until I've tried to my last breath—" My eyes catch the faint shimmer of something silvery-green in the black water. "I think I see something!"

Silvery-green flashes across the hole again.

"Aye," he says, his tone clipped. His fingers tighten about my arms. "Be ready. He may take the bait."

My heart picks up. "How will I know?—" The line tugs, nearly ripping the stick out of my hands! I gasp and grip the stick tighter, keeping my line. The fish tugs again on my line, bending the stick so much that it might snap! "Eric!—"

"Take a breath." He grabs the top of the line between his fingers. "Hold the pole steady, it willnae break." Quickly and skillfully, he winds the line around his left bracer, pulling more and more of the line out of the water. My eyes widen as I watch the fish's silvery-green head materialize in the inky depths. The black water erupts with the fish's struggling, the splashes contained by the walls of the hole.

"Look at that!" Eric says as he pulls the fish out of the hole! I gasp, a smile of pride spreading my mouth. It's a big fish, about the length and girth of Eric's forearm! Unseen light bounces off its speckled, silver-green scales as it twists and contorts its robust body in almost impossible ways, flaring its gills and gaping its hooked shape mouth in a sorry attempt to breathe. My smile lessens with the growing ache in my heart. I sense it already in this strong fish. He has lived twenty years in this little isolated lake, the undisputed king of his watery realm. I sense his life slipping out of him with each poisonous, chilled breath he draws into his body.

"Trout! An angry lad, too! No' bad for a first catch!" Eric grabs the fish in his hand and works the line out of the fish's hooked jaw. "The bastard swallowed yer bait!" He lets go of the line, the crude bait I had carved indeed gone. Eric examines the speckled lake trout closely. "Very good catch!"

Watching the fish struggle in Eric's hand less and less, each sorry breath drawn slower, smaller, and farther between—my heart cannot take it! "Put him back!"

Eric looks up at me, surprised. "What!?"

I look down at the trout, his body growing weaker and weaker, his life leaving his eyes, his heart failing. "He's dying!"

"So!?" He furrows his brows, bewildered and somewhat angry.

"I don't want him to die!"

His eyes widen. "We need to eat! Ye'd toss this back into the water!?"

My mouth opens, my heart ready to throw some words out, but my hollow stomach and my good sense stops me. I look down at the dying trout. He twists his body one last time, thrusting his tail to the left. He holds it there for a breath, two breaths...his heart takes one last, longing beat. His body slowly relaxes in Eric's grasp until it just hangs there in the biting, chilly air. My attention is briefly drawn to my chilled, numb hands. I set the stick down in my lap and seek the gloves still tucked in my belt.

Eric sighs and sets the fish down on his other side, out of my sight. I tug on my gloves and bury my hands beneath my armpits.

"I'll show ye how to fish alone," he says in his cold, curt, stern way. He unwinds the line from his bracer and pulls another hunk of wood out of his satchel. He uses his knife and expertly whittles another false fish, his fish bait much more detailed than mine. He grabs the end of the line and ties his bait to it. My eyes widen. There's a sharp metal hook at the end of the line tipped with a spot of crimson. That spot of crimson must be the fish's blood.

"Alright, ye drop yer bait into the water." He grabs the pole out of my lap and drops his bait into the water. "Dance yer jig." He bobs his bait up and down in a gentle, rhythmic pattern. "And hold still." He rests his arms on his knees, holding his line still. I watch him, waiting for him to look my way. He stares at his line, waiting...waiting...waiting. My heart sinks. Did I disappoint him with my sudden protest to return the fish to the water? Or was it before then? How I refused to tell Eric that I do care for him. If only he could understand that I am doing this for his sake and not mine—His line jerks suddenly, bending the stick in his grasp!

"Another one!" he says, surprised.

"That was quick!"

"Aye! Now watch! Ye put yer pole under yer arm like this," he tucks his pole securely between his left arm and his side, "and ye reel the fish out like this!" Like before, he grabs the line and winds it around his left wrist quickly and skillfully, pulling the poor, thrashing fish out of the hole. "Another trout!" he says, grinning proudly. "This one's a wee lass!"

I smile faintly, though it is heavy. The poor fish. This fish is indeed half the size and paler than the big boy Eric helped me fish out of the ice, her snout short and rounded. Despite her smaller size, she thrashes about, twisting and contorting her body with the same zeal for life as the boy. Eric takes her in his hand and unhooks the line from her mouth, his bait still intact on the end of the line.

"Good catch," I say, though it lacks his abounding enthusiasm.

He casts me a sideways glance, his smile lessening. "Thanks," he says. Soon, just like the boy, her heart takes its last desperate beat. Eric sets her aside with the boy, out of my sight.

"Now ye try, just like I showed ye." He hands me his pole. "Cast yer bait into the water." He nods to the hole.

I frown, but I cast my bait into the water despite my moral qualms.

"Dance yer jig," he reminds me.

"Oh, right." I bob the bait in the water just as he showed me, being careful to not bob it too aggressively. He is right. We need food and in our five days out here in this harsh, merciless winter, I have yet to see any life clambering through the snow. This is the best way to obtain food right now. I hear his sharp intake of breath. I know what he's about to say! I stop dancing my jig and rest my elbows on my knees, holding the line still.

"Aye, good."

Silence settles over us. Despite the mundane direction our words took, a strangely depressing, mildly sickening air hangs between us. There's just something that seems so...terrible about the harsh reminder of reality that I threw in his face. Frustration builds in me. God, what I wouldn't give for this strange air to leave us! I already miss the sweet banter we had, the thrill of flirting, the hope that more was going to come from this...There must be something I can say to chase this feeling away.

I snort, an idea popping into my mind. "Did I mention that I don't like fish?"

"What?" he asks, surprised, his tone lighter.

I glance at him and force a smile for his sake. He wants to see me smile more, so this is the least I can do for him. "Ever since I was a little girl, I never liked fish. I never liked the smell, the taste, the sliminess." He chuckles while he shakes his head at me, mirth in his blue eyes once more, and I pray many more times to come before I die. My smile lightens, feeling truer. "And here I am now fishing out of the ice for some dinner."

He still shakes his head in amusement. "More often than no', dinner is dinner," he says, his laughter ebbing. "Ye cannae afford to be picky."

"Hmph." My smile drifts away with the thought. "Believe me, hunter, I learned not to be picky fourteen years ago."

That wipes the grin from his face. "Hunter?" he says, frowning. "Ye forgot my name?"

I frown in turn. "No. It just came out." Lie. Complete, utter lie, but a necessary one. That heavy, sickening air comes back full force. Something flashes across his blue eyes, but he hardens his face and looks at the line still in the water. What was that? Anger? Hurt? Regret for kissing me? This is a mess—A sharp tug breaks my mulling.

"Ye've got a bite!"

"Again!?" I do my best to ignore my shock. Like he showed me, I tuck the pole between my arm and my side, grab the line with one hand, and start winding it about my right wrist. The line tightens about my wrist, but thankfully my thick sleeves and glove help keep the sharp edge of the line from cutting into my skin. I wind more and more of the line, pulling something that's strong and fighting dearly for its life. This one has also lived a long life, about seventeen years, in this black lake peacefully. It pains me having to drag this poor soul out.

"Here!" Eric grabs the line and helps me pull the thrashing fish out of the hole. Another trout, this one slightly bigger than Eric's catch, but the short, rounded snout gives her away.

"Good!" Eric says. I look at him. He grabs the fish in one hand and frees the hook from her mouth with the other. He examines the fish closely and looks at me, smiling proudly. "Very good catch, but it's another wee lass." His smile lessens. "If ye want to put her back into the water, I can—"

"Please! If we can afford to spare one life, then why not do it?"

His face softens to something gentle, almost—dare I think—reverent? "Aye." Looking down to the hole, he angles the trout headfirst in the hole and lets her slip from his hands. She plunges into the water and thrashes her tail, disappearing into the black depths of the lake. "Let's see if we can fish out one more lad, though." He looks to me. "It'll be good practice for ye."

I frown, but I recast my bait.

We spend most of the day at the black lake, taking turns casting the bait into the hole until it stops yielding fish. We catch five trout total, three boys and two girls, a far better catch than Eric anticipated.

With daylight threatening to leave soon, Eric grabs a roll of leather out of his satchel. He unties its straps and spreads the leather roll out across the ice. He places the five fish side by side on the leather, rolls them back up and ties the straps securely. There's a longer strap that connects both sides of the leather roll, forming a roll-up satchel. He cuts the line from the stick he had tied the line to and tosses the stick into the hole. I watch him as he wraps the black string about his expertly carved bait and stows it in his satchel—the one his mother made for him when he was a small boy. The thought of Eric once being a little boy...it's a hard thing to picture. Very hard.

"Time to go," he says, his tone mostly flat, but somewhat somber. He lifts both straps of his satchels over his head and rises to his overwhelming stature. He looks down at me and offers me his hand. I tilt my chin all the way back just to meet his heavy, dark eyes. Not dark with desire this time, but something else. He seems...colder...more cut off. Despite him being here now, I feel alone. I remember his stupid, toothy grin after I kissed him. He looked so happy then. Damn me! I suck the joy out of everyone around me just like Ravenna drains those poor people of their lives, turning them to ash at her feet. What I wouldn't give to make him smile again, even if I will never see that big, toothy grin again. Some smile, any smile that does not feel compulsory.

I force a smile for his sake and say, "Thank you for this." I reach up and place my gloved hand in his.

He casts me a questioning look while he helps me to my feet. "For what?"

"For taking me here, for teaching me how to fish out of the ice, for...caring enough to do so."

His eyes soften and brighten some. The corners of his lips twitch. "I thought ye dinnae like fishin'. It does kill them."

"No, I most certainly don't like that part of it," I mutter. Despite this sad fact, my smile broadens for the words coming next. "Regardless, I will never forget this. I'm grateful for every moment I get to spend with you."

Finally, a faint smile lifts the corners of his mouth. "Aye, and I with ye." His eyes drop to my mouth, growing darker the longer they linger there. He takes a step towards me, closing the space between us. My sight of him slips into that sweet black abyss. He presses his mouth to mine, my lips chilled and numb. I grab our joined hands with my free hand and bring them to my heart. Even if I never get to see his stupid, toothy grin again, at least there's this.

Just as my lifeblood starts filling my lips with warmth and feeling, he pulls away. My eyes open, crossing his dark ones.

"Com'on." He takes a step back towards the bank. "Let's find someplace to rest for the night." He leads me safely back to the snowy bank, neither of us taking another unfortunate tumble on the ice. As we gather up our other possessions and strap our feet to our skis, I can't help my mind. What does this all mean for us now? This changes thin's, he said. It really does. A door has been opened and another successfully, albeit heart-wrenchingly closed. There will never be anything more than a simple friendship between us, however short lived it will be, but we both know we desire each other to some degree. That degree is questionable, but if carefully approached, it can give us both what I so desperately need. A simple night of pleasure for him that will leave him satisfied and untouched and for me, an utter lavishing of his goodness upon my evil-ridden body. I've no doubt that Finn will eventually kill me in the way he promised to do so. Before that, I need to feel Eric's goodness. Just once. No more than that. Surely that's not wrong to ask for, especially when I am making every attempt to spare his heart from me...no matter how much it hurts us both.

Before I know it, we are skiing along the snow, Eric leading the way to a growing collection of trees in the distance. No doubt he intends to stay the night in there. Somewhere.