The blizzard hit halfway back. Flinzer’s flock of fools stumbled into Sunnyside, snow-blind and half-frozen. The bounty was lost, but defeat brought her own consolations.

Lilleen met the empty-handed losers with open arms and glee burning on her cheeks. She stoked an enormous fire and fixed them a feast of flapjacks. Then, she sent the weary men to bed without a word of payment.

They weren’t angry anymore. She was right to lie, and he told her so as she fretted after him in her cottage. Flinzer’s ribs were only bruised, which was a blessing. He had no time to heal that night, or the morning after. It was as if they were young again.

Flinzer and his men were a long time on the mend. Bluddox caught pneumonia and nearly drowned a second time. Whent nursed him, awake at the big man’s side for two nights until his fever finally broke. Flinzer stopped by the next morning to check on the patient. Whent’s eyes were bloodshot, and Bluddox snored like a boar. The danger was past.

Flinzer quietly inquired what had transpired on the dark morning when both men deserted. Whent’s black eye had faded away, but Flinzer was still curious.

“I called him lummox,” Whent admitted. “Didn’t expect him to get so twisted.”

“Wyrth are proud about their names,” Flinzer explained. Once, he’d seen another man make the same cheap crack in a bar. Bluddox left him unrecognizable. Whent got off lucky.

Ames was hurt, and Ives was more dead than alive. His body was one big bruise. It took several days before he stopped passing blood. Indebted, Ames ignored his own injuries and fretted after Ives incessantly.

Flinzer split his attention between his autumn paramour and Stripes. Stripes was in such a stupor, and Flinzer feared his friend might be dim-witted ‘til the end of his days. Each night, Flinzer sat beside the fire with Stripes and told tales he’d told so many times he couldn’t remember what was true and what was embellished.

It seemed hopeless, but after two weeks, Stripes came around and was more like himself. Sometimes, he’d stop dead and stare, but it was to be expected. A hoof had nearly cracked his skull in half.

Cocker left as soon as the storm let up, with heady talk of starting a new company. Flinzer wished him well and meant it. They were sad to see Cocker go yet relieved when he left.

The winter wore on, a long, cooped-up season of recovery and renewal. Lilleen kept them all hopping with chores and repairs so they didn’t have time to get sick of each other. Flinzer led his men on ice-fishing expeditions, painfully aware they were eating Lilleen out of house and home.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Bluddox always stayed behind. The big man was understandably unwilling to set foot upon ice ever again. Even snowbound for weeks, the men barely squabbled. They were lucky to be alive, and they knew it.

As winter dwindled, Lilleen’s mood darkened. Flinzer supposed she was sick of him. Flinzer had hunted men his whole life. He’d never had a wife and could not understand why things had gone sideways. One windy night in her cottage, they tipped back one too many. A trifling remark blew into an all-out argument. Finally, she let him have it.

“You’ll leave me in the spring,” Lilleen accused.

Flinzer was taken aback. He’d mulled it all season and thought he meant to stay. But as soon as Lilleen said the words, he knew it was true. She’d sniffed out his restlessness before he fully realized it himself. She was right, Flinzer was unsatisfied.

A pall of unfinished business hung over him. Lilleen knew him better than he did, and that made him double the fool for leaving her. As he realized it, she read the whole story on his face.

“Just go,” Lilleen wept. She shut her eyes tight and turned away as if she’d been slapped. For a big woman, she cried small, sniffles and little sobs. The sound made Flinzer want to walk out in the woods, cover himself with snow, and vanish into the earth. But what could he do? Lie to her? Stick it out for a season or so? Blot it out with drink until he couldn’t take it anymore?

They sat on stools, facing away from each other as wind rattled the cottage. Flinzer wondered what was wrong with him. The land was unreasonably beautiful here, far from every foe who remembered his name. He had food, shelter, lovely company. It was a second chance he surely didn’t deserve. Yet, his pride could not abide going out on four losses in a row. A core of discontent burned inside him. He could not finish out his days in slow, seeping failure. Though his road had nearly run out, he was bound to return.

Flinzer sobbed at his own stupidity and winced at the pang in his ribs. Almost spring, but the sprain still ached. He was dragged back to the day they almost died over a hundred measly ducats. Pitiful bounty-men, alive at the mercy of their quarry. He couldn’t let it go.

Flinzer’s heart raced when he heard wolves far off in the hills. He woke, cold, and found he’d kicked off the sheets as he drowned in his dreams. He remembered the giant’s blue eyes burning in the night, and he was afraid. If Flinzer abandoned Lilleen, it would not be for pride, nor for fortune. It would be a retreat. Cowardice would curdle the sweetness he’d found.

Flinzer decided and stood up so fast the stool toppled. Sheepish, he righted it and dressed. His fingers fumbled, but his head was sober with purpose. He buckled on his sword belt.

“Please, don’t leave me. I didn’t mean it!” Lilleen wailed. Tears trailed down her cheeks. Lilleen tried to block the door, but she could barely stand. They were really quite drunk. Flinzer carried her over to the bed. She tried to pull him in with her, but he drew back.

“Don’t go.”

He put a kiss on her brow, blew out the lamp, and walked out into the bitter wind.