Waves of exhaustion beat at her as she tried to kneel and slid her wheels back into their slipcovers. Her calves wobbled when she started to stand, giving out after only a few moments. She collapsed onto her stomach and then rolled onto her side, curling into a tight ball in the hopes that she might conserve some of the fleeting warmth in her body. The black swell of unconsciousness threatened to pull her back into its depths. Ember forced her eyes to remain open, knowing that falling into that darkness might mean she wouldn’t wake up again. Between her wounds and the numbness overtaking her limbs, she knew she must fight to keep her body from succumbing to the cold and its weariness.
Though it was pure torment, she let her mind focus on her wounds because it kept her awake. If she started to go numb, she had only to move her arm or shoulder and the jolt of pain brought her back to the freezing night and her broken body. As time passed, even this tactic began to fail her.
She was slipping in and out of consciousness when she heard it: the soft thud of hooves against soil. At first she believed herself in a dream brought forth by desperate hope, but the loud snort, followed by a fearful whinny and shuffling noise of a shying horse, was sudden and close.
A moment later she heard Barrow’s call: “Ember! Ember, where are you?”
Barrow and Toshach must have come across the striga’s corpse, which likely startled the horse.
She tried to cry out, but only a croak slipped from her throat. A long moan of pain came when she tried to push herself up to crawl toward the sounds.
The hoofbeats were closer now and Ember began to drag herself along the ground. A tall looming shape emerged from the forest. Painted in darkness, horse and rider melded into a single shape and had she been a lost child, Ember might have thought she’d crossed paths with a centaur.
The image broke as Barrow swung out of the saddle and came to her side.
“You killed the striga.” His voice was hushed. “That’s remarkable. How badly are you injured?”
She couldn’t answer. Any remaining strength had been spent in the short distance she’d crawled. Exhaustion and pain pushed her back to the earth.
“I’m sorry, Ember, but I have to see the wounds.” She didn’t even have the will to protest or cry out when Barrow rolled her onto her stomach. She did whimper, however, when he peeled back the tattered remains of her tabard and kirtle. Dried blood had pasted the cloth to her skin. She felt the warmth of fresh blood flow on her back.
Barrow swore. “These look deep, but I can barely see. I’ll try to bind them as best I can.”
He was gone from her side and she soon heard the rip of cloth. When he returned, he helped her sit up, then wound long strips of fabric around her body, covering her upper back and shoulders.
The pain was so horrible that Ember could barely stay upright. Her body was shaking and the night had gained strange floating colors that rose like fog as she gazed into the darkness.
“It’s a poor job,” he muttered. “But it’s the best I can do.”
He left again and soon another string of curses floated through the night air. When he returned to her, Barrow said, “The fates are cruel. I’ve found you, but the horn is gone. I can’t call the others to us and I don’t want to move you until there’s light to guide us.”
Ember didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She simply let her body fall to the ground as it wanted to. She heard her mentor whispering to himself.
“Damn! She’ll freeze to death before the morning.”
What happened next only came to her in snatches. The sound of a girth being unfastened. The soft, curious whicker of Toshach close by. The gentle tones of Barrow’s voice as he spoke to the horse.
She was vaguely aware of the sudden welcome warmth as the stallion’s huge body settled on the ground next to her and of her own form being carefully pushed up against Toshach’s side.
“Don’t think me a churl, Ember.” Barrow stretched out next to her on the opposite side of Toshach. “If you aren’t kept warm, you might not see the morning.”
He moved closer, his body pressed against hers, his cloak covering both of them.
“Stay strong,” he breathed into the crown of her hair. “Daybreak brings us aid. I swear it.”
Through the haze of pain Ember smiled slightly. Part of her believed she had no chance of seeing the morning Barrow promised. But at least she would no longer die alone.
The morning did come, and at its first pale light, Ember’s eyes fluttered open. She felt wretched, stomach-sick and still dizzy, but her mind was clear in a way it hadn’t been the night before. At least she was warm. With a sharp breath she became aware of the cause for her body’s sole comfort. Barrow still slept. His lips were slightly parted and his steady breath peaceful.
Ember watched his face, entranced by the opportunity to observe the warrior so closely without his knowledge. Her breath hitched the longer she looked at him, mimicking her uneven pulse.
She’d never been this close to a man, not even her father, who’d regarded affection toward his children as foolish coddling. Tucked against Barrow’s chest, she breathed in his scent, earth and pine mixed with sweat and the warmth of skin. The heat of his body kept the chill of morning at bay. Unable to resist, Ember reached out and touched the bare skin where Barrow’s shirt was open at his throat. Her fingers stroked the hollow above his collarbone and slid down until she could feel the rise of his chest muscles. Her hands were trembling, but she didn’t want to stop. He was so warm.
Barrow’s eyes opened and suddenly he was gripping her arms. She worried that lingering in his arms without waking him, and going so far as to touch him, had earned his disgust, but Barrow wasn’t looking at her.
“Be still,” he whispered. He rolled over and his gaze swept the forest.
She heard it then. A quiet rustle of cloth followed by a crooning, mournful sound.
“Can you move?” Barrow asked, voice low.
Ember tested her shoulders, wincing at the sharp pain in her back that answered the motion. But it wasn’t unbearable. She nodded.
“I’ll help you onto Toshach’s back.”
He leveraged her body carefully up and onto the horse.
Toshach flicked his ears, turning his head to look at his new rider.
“Slowly,” Barrow told the stallion, and Ember wound her fingers in his mane as he lurched up.
Barrow stroked Toshach’s nose, whispering too low for Ember to hear.