The wind howled outside the cabin, the sound mingling with the ragged breaths of the man sprawled on the narrow cot. You worked quickly, hands steady but heart racing as you cleaned the blood-soaked wound at his side. His fever burned hot, leaving him shivering beneath the pile of blankets you had hastily thrown over him. When you had found him half-conscious in the woods, battered and broken, you hadn’t hesitated.

Now, with the fire crackling softly in the corner, you did your best to stitch his torn flesh, hoping your efforts would be enough.

He lay still, his face contorted in pain even in unconsciousness, his dark hair slick with sweat… sometimes, talking in his sleep.

You have no idea who he is.