Fyodor grumbled to himself as he wandered around the old hut, preparing things so he could go to sleep. ‘They didn’t have to quarantine me this far out.’ He thought to himself bitterly. Fyodor was among the sick and dying in his mountainous village, they’d sent each person that had the signs, black lumps under the armpits and groin area all swollen, into some of the outlying farms and houses that had been abandoned for this fierce winter. This hut wasn’t too bad he admitted to himself when he had arrived earlier this morning. But that was too many hours ago, he’d had to keep his mind and body occupied so he’d done some work around the hut. No use just giving up and dying, no one did that around here, otherwise winter would have been the death knell in the first year here. The speed at which the sickness would kill some was merciful at least. He’d seen Vlad’s widow going into her house one night and the next morning, her skin looked all waxen, she was off colour and sweating profusely. She’d gone to see the priest, who was as good a doctor as they had out here, but he’d told her to make herself comfortable. Throughout the day, she’d started wheezing and coughing up blood, it was over before sundown. That was two days ago.

This morning, when Fyodor had woken, he was startled and scared to find swelling under his arms and around his groin. He hadn’t told anyone and had simply gone about his daily chores. He’d had to stop a few times because he was short of breath and wheezing. One such time, his neighbour had come over to see if he was alright. Of course he was, Fyodor had snapped, didn’t people realise that aging wasn’t friendly to the health. ‘I’m just getting old,’ he had lied. His head now sunk at the thought, hoping that by lying he hadn’t caused anyone else to get the sickness. He felt bad enough about what had happened at the inn; he’d gone inside after his chores were done and sat down in his usual spot and one of those nice girls had brought him his usual drink, without even needing to be asked mind, but halfway through the tankard, he had started coughing. At first it was a dry coughing wheeze, but as it continued, to his horror, he had started coughing up blood. Well that had certainly stirred up an ants' nest hadn’t it? A few of the boys had taken him to the priest, who inspected him and gave him the bad news. The priest didn’t leave it at that though, he had told Fyodor to hold on, and to conserve his energy. When Fyodor had snorted in derision, the priest had explained about a man that he had sent for, a magicker. He was coming to heal everyone and stop the disease. He then went on to say that Fyodor was lucky, that the man should be coming from the west and that’s where the old huntsman’s hut was. When Fyodor had asked what that had to do with him, the priest had told him about the quarantine, anyone with signs of the sickness was being sent to the outlying farms.

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That was this morning. Fyodor had been ushered out, given a sack and told to head to the huntsman’s hut as it wasn’t used in winter. It had taken Fyodor quite a few hours to reach the hut, and some more after that to clear the snow from the doorway to get inside. When he had, he’d burst in and scrabbled together all the things to make a fire and had sat luxuriating in the warmth for some time. For too long in fact, it was now past sunset and he’d only just had his meal and the fire was guttering, trying to stay alight but in danger of going out. So here he was, an old man, grumbling and grasping in the snowy dark for some dry wood to keep the fire going overnight. After he’d gathered all the wood, Fyodor went back inside and stoked the fire until it was a strong steady flame again. He collapsed down onto the pallet bed exhausted and went to sleep.

Fyodor was awoken in the middle of the night by an enormous crash. Bitter cold wind started blowing on him and he opened his eyes. One of the hut walls was open and a tree was protruding through. The wind must have caught it and blown it over. Too tired and exhausted to get up and do anything, Fyodor gritted his teeth, pulled his threadbare blanket tight around him and hoped that the magicker would arrive soon.