He approached the cot. "I must remove the wet clothes," he said, though she couldn't hear him.
He drew his knife again and carefully cut the frozen, stiff fabric of the crimson dress, peeling it away from her skin. Underneath, she was bruised, battered, and blue with cold. He wrapped her tightly in three heavy bear-skin rugs, dragging the cot closer to the fire.
Then, he went to a small cast-iron stove, melted a pot of snow, and brewed a thick, pungent tea made of willow bark and pine needles.
For the next twelve hours, it was a brutal vigil. Noah did not sleep. He sat by the fire, feeding the flames, occasionally lifting Cinder’s head to force drops of the hot, bitter liquid past her lips. He rubbed her hands and feet, trying to stimulate circulation, watching as the deadly gray pallor slowly, agonizingly, gave way to a flush of feverish pink.
It wasn't until the morning of the second day that Cinder truly woke up.
She opened her eyes, staring at the rough-hewn logs of the ceiling. The smell of woodsmoke was overpowering. She tried to move, but her muscles screamed in agony.
"Drink," a gruff voice commanded.
Noah was sitting on a wooden stool beside the cot, holding a wooden mug. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot, his face covered in dark stubble. He slipped his hand behind her neck, lifting her up, and pressed the mug to her lips.
The broth was rich and salty—venison. It was the best thing she had ever tasted.
"You saved me," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"Do not mistake duty for forgiveness," Noah replied, pulling the mug away and setting it on the hearth. He stood up, towering over her again. His presence was overwhelming in the small cabin.
"Why, then?" Cinder asked, tears welling in her eyes again. "If you hate me so much for Elias... why didn't you let the snow take me?"
Noah turned his back to her, staring into the flames. "Because when the soldiers tied you to that tree, they didn't just condemn you. They mocked my people. They hung a sign over your head using our name as a curse. If I let you die, I let them win. I let them dictate who lives and who dies in these woods."
He turned his head slightly, his profile illuminated by the fire. "And because Elias loved you. If I let you freeze, I would be betraying the only good thing he saw in this rotten world."
Cinder pulled the bear hides tighter around her neck, hiding her face as she broke down, weeping for the man she had loved, the mistake she had made, and the terrifying, furious man who had pulled her back from the abyss.
Four days passed. The blizzard outside raged unabated, effectively entombing them in the small cabin. The forced proximity was suffocating.
Physically, Cinder was recovering. The frostbite on her fingers and toes had been superficial, thanks to Noah’s rapid intervention. She could walk around the cabin, feed the fire, and help prepare the dried meat and roots Noah had stored.
Emotionally, the cabin was a powder keg. They rarely spoke. When they did, it was transactional. Pass the wood. Check the water. Stir the pot.
But the silence was heavy with unsaid things. Cinder watched Noah as he meticulously cleaned his rifles, sharpened his knives, and sat for hours staring out the small, frost-covered window. She realized that beneath his armor of rage, he was carrying a grief so profound it was eating him alive from the inside out.
One evening, as the wind died down to a low whistle, Cinder sat across the fire from him. She was wearing one of his old wool shirts, which hung on her like a tent.