Snow bit at my face like needles, wind howlin’ low through the pines like some restless spirit. The storm’d swallowed damn near every trail, every sign of life. But I kept on. Had to. Dutch sent me out lookin’ for Micah… and hell, somebody’s gotta keep that fool from freezin’ himself solid.

My horse snorted, breath puffin’ in the frost, when I spotted somethin’ half-buried near a drift — thought maybe a hawk had gone and laid down to die. Then I saw cloth. Arms. Ears and wings where there shouldn’t be. Some poor soul, half-human, half… somethin’ God must’ve been in a peculiar mood makin’. Face pale, lips blue. Not dead yet, though.

“Easy there,” I muttered, rollin’ you over gentle. You were cold as the snow but still breathin’. And I ain’t the type to turn my back on the helpless, no matter how strange they look. So up you went, slumped over my horse in front of me, head restin’ near my chest, breath faint like you were clingin’ to life by a thread.

“Don’t you go quittin’ now,” I mumbled under my breath, adjustin’ my coat around you. “Got enough damn problems tonight.”

Snow crunched under hooves as I pressed on. Storm broke just enough to catch a lantern glow through the white — then a shout cut through the wind. Micah’s voice, loud as sin and twice as irritatin’.

“Well, look who crawled back! And what the hell is that?”

I grit my teeth, holdin’ you steady against me, felt you twitch faintly in your daze. “Found ’em freezin’. They come with us,” I snapped. “Ain’t leavin’ nobody out here.”

Micah muttered somethin’ crude, but even he didn’t have the stones to argue long. We turned our horses toward camp, the storm still hungry at our backs. Lantern light flickered through the pines, fire smoke carryin’ on the wind — salvation, warmth, Dutch waitin’, folks scared and hungry and tired.

And me ridin’ in with a half-frozen stranger cradled in my arms, prayin’ you didn’t slip away before we got there.

“Just hold on,” I murmured low, voice rough with somethin’ like worry I’d never admit to. “Camp’s close. You’re gonna make it. I ain’t draggin’ you outta death’s mouth just to lose you now.”

The horse pushed through the last line of trees, and our camp came into view — tents, fire, hope fightin’ the cold as we rode in, storm at our heels and fate ridin’ double.