Down in the snowbank, Noah waited until the patrol was deep into the ravine, entirely flanked by steep, rocky walls.
Crack!
Noah’s first shot shattered the morning silence. The heavy bullet tore through the chest of the tracker, Silas, dropping him instantly into the snow.
Chaos erupted. The soldiers scrambled, shouting in panic, trying to find cover where there was none. They began firing blindly into the tree line, their muskets and rifles echoing like thunder.
Noah moved like a ghost. He fired again, chambered a round, and fired. A second soldier fell, clutching his thigh.
Captain Miller screamed orders, pointing toward the puff of smoke from Noah’s position. "There! In the bank! Suppressing fire!"
Two soldiers directed their volley at Noah’s snowbank. Ice and dirt exploded around him. Noah was pinned down, struggling to reload his repeater with freezing fingers. Miller drew his sidearm and began advancing up the trail, intending to flank Noah's position.
From the cabin window, Cinder watched Miller moving. The man who had murdered Elias. The man who had tied her to a tree to die.
She took a deep breath. She steadied the rifle barrel on the window sill. She exhaled slowly, her vision narrowing until nothing existed except the brass buttons on Miller’s heavy coat.
She pulled the trigger.
The recoil slammed into her shoulder, bruising her instantly.
Down in the ravine, Captain Miller stopped dead in his tracks. A bloom of dark red exploded on his shoulder. He spun around, dropping his pistol, screaming in shock and pain. He looked up toward the cabin, realizing for the first time that the prey was biting back.
Noah used the distraction. He lunged out of the snowbank, closing the distance between himself and the remaining soldiers with terrifying speed. He didn't bother reloading. He drew the heavy hunting knife—the same knife he had used to cut Cinder down—and fell upon the panicked men like a wolf among sheep.
It was brutal, fast, and ugly. Within seconds, it was over.
The ravine was silent once more, save for the moans of the wounded. Noah stood amidst the fallen, his chest heaving, his knife dripping red into the pristine snow. He looked up at the cabin window.
Cinder stood in the doorway, the rifle still in her hands, her face pale but her eyes burning with a fierce, undeniable fire. She walked down the trail, her boots crunching in the snow, until she stood beside Noah.
Captain Miller was on his knees, clutching his shattered shoulder, his face pale with terror as he looked up at the Native American warrior and the woman in the oversized wool shirt.
"You..." Miller gasped, looking at Cinder. "You're dead."
"Not yet," Cinder said coldly.
Noah stepped forward, towering over the captain. He didn't execute him. Instead, he kicked Miller’s pistol away.
"You will walk back to your fort," Noah commanded, his voice echoing off the rocks. "You will tell them that this mountain belongs to the Red Elk. You will tell them that the ghost of Elias haunts these woods, and she carries a rifle. If any of your men step foot past the valley river again, they will not return."
Miller nodded frantically, clutching his bleeding arm, and began to stumble back down the trail, a broken, defeated man.
That evening, the atmosphere in the cabin was fundamentally altered. The suffocating tension had evaporated, replaced by a weary, heavy peace. They had fought together. They had bled together. The ghosts of the past hadn't been banished, but they had been answered.