The camp was alive with activity, the men moving with purpose as they prepared for another storm from the mountains. The sight of Charles, his injured hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage, swinging an axe was jarring. His face was set in a grimace of pain, the effort of chopping wood etched in every line of his features.

"Charles, what in the world are you doing?" Alexandria called out, rushing over to him.

Her friend looked up, the axe hovering mid-swing. His face was flushed with exertion, beads of sweat visible even in the cold.

"I'm just trying to help," he said, his voice tight from pain.

Alexandria stepped closer, taking the axe from his hand.

"You've done enough," she said firmly. "You need to let that hand heal. I can manage this."

Charles nodded reluctantly, his eyes dropping to the ground.

"Thank you, Allison," he murmured, his voice still tight with pain.

Alexandria set to work, her movements swift and efficient. The axe fell with a satisfying thunk into the log, sending splinters flying. Each swing was a release, channeling the anger and fear that bubbled beneath the surface. The camp men paused in their work to watch her, their eyes lingering on her form as she worked. Hosea, ever the protective father figure, cast a knowing glance her way, his expression a mix of pride and concern. Her cheeks grew rosy from the exertion, the cold air kissing her skin. As she worked, she became aware of the glances from the men around her, how their eyes followed the arc of the axe, how it sliced through the wood, and how her muscles moved beneath her shirt. It was a strange feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. The axe splitting the logs was the only noise that broke the early morning silence. The rhythmic thud was almost mesmerizing, a dance of life in the face of the impending storm. With each swing, she could feel the tension in her body dissipate, the anger and sadness fading away into the snow-covered ground. As Alexandria worked, her coat grew heavy with sweat, the fabric sticking to her skin. She knew she had to remove it before she froze, so with a grunt, she yanked it off, revealing the tight shirt that clung to her body. The cold air hit her like a slap, sending goosebumps racing across her skin. But it was a small price to pay for the warmth of the firewood she was providing. The men in the camp couldn't help but stare as she swung the axe, the muscles in her arms flexing with each blow. It was a sight they hadn't seen before -- a woman, especially one as beautiful as Alexandria, doing such manly work. It was surprising, yet oddly alluring. They whispered to each other, their eyes never leaving her, their thoughts unspoken but clear. She's trouble. Hosea watched from the corner of his eye, his expression a mix of admiration and concern. He knew the men's thoughts could lead to trouble, especially when it came to someone as fiercely independent as Alexandria. He made a mental note to have a chat with Arthur later, to remind him of the precarious balance they needed to maintain in the camp. Alexandria ignored the looks she was receiving, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. When all the wood was chopped and the final cabin stocked, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and made her way to the communal cabin. The smell of simmering stew filled her nostrils before she entered, making her stomach growl in anticipation. She stepped inside, the warmth of the stove washing over her, and greeted Susan who was stirring the pot with a tired smile.

"Could I get a bowl, please?" Alexandria asked as she tossed her coat onto a chair.

Susan nodded, her eyes filled with motherly concern that was all too familiar.

"You've been working hard," she said, ladling a generous portion into a bowl. "You should rest."

"For me, sitting still is harder than any kind of work," Alexandria replied with a tired smile, accepting the stew gratefully.

The rich aroma of the stew filled her nose, the warmth of it seeping into her frozen fingers. Susan chuckled, her eyes filled with a knowing twinkle.

"You just keep saying that, and you'll give Hosea a heart attack," she warned, shaking her head. "That man worries enough about you as it is."

Alexandria took a seat at the rough-hewn table, the warmth of the stew spreading through her chilled body.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "But I can't help it. I've never been one for sitting around and he was the one that encouraged this. Remember?"

Susan's face softened into a smile as she recalled Hosea's insistence on teaching Alexandria survival skills.

"I do," she said. "But that doesn't mean you can't give yourself a break now and then."

Alexandria took a mouthful of the stew, savoring the tender meat and vegetables that melted in her mouth.

"This is heaven," she murmured, her eyes closing briefly in pleasure. "I'll rest after I eat."

She opened her eyes to find Susan watching her with a knowing look. Susan's gaze was warm and filled with concern, but Alexandria knew she couldn't rest just yet. Not with the storm coming and the threat of the O'Driscolls looming over them. She took another bite, the warmth of the food seeping into her bones, filling her with energy.

"I promise," Alexandria said again, her voice firmer this time. "After I've had some coffee."

Susan rolled her eyes good-naturedly but said nothing more. She knew that once Alexandria had set her mind on something, it was almost impossible to change it. She had seen the stubbornness in her many times before, and it was one of the things she admired most about the young woman. As if on cue, the door to the cabin swung open, and in stepped Hosea and Arthur, their cheeks red from the cold and their breaths frosty clouds in the warm air. They stomped the snow from their boots, the sound echoing through the small space.

"You two are just in time," Susan said, her voice teasing. "The coffee's just finished brewing."

Alexandria looked up, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well, I guess the smell did give it away," she quipped, earning a chuckle from Arthur.

She rose from her table, her muscles protesting slightly from the previous exertions. She grabbed a mug from the shell and filled it with the dark, rich liquid, the steam curling up like a warm embrace. The warmth of the coffee was a stark contrast to the cold outside, and she held it close to her chest, letting the heat seep into her bones. She took a seat back at her table, she watched the flames dance in the hearth. The crackling wood and the scent of brewing coffee filled the cabin, creating an atmosphere of comfort that was a stark contrast to the looming storm. Arthur and Hosea took their places at the table, their plates piled high with stew and biscuits. They ate in companionable silence, the only sounds were the clinking of their cutlery and the occasional grunt of satisfaction. Alexandria couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at their ease. They had been friends for years, their bond forged in the fires of a harsh and unforgiving life. Her past was a stark contrast compared to theirs—filled with loneliness and the sudden urge for survival. But here, in this makeshift family of outlaws, she felt a belonging she hadn't felt in a long time. She watched as Arthur tore into a piece of bread, his eyes never leaving hers. There was something in his gaze that made her heart flutter, a silent promise of protection and comfort. Alexandria quickly returned to her coffee. The warmth of the coffee spread through her body, chasing away the last vestiges of the cold from outside. But it was Arthur's gaze that truly warmed her—like a gentle embrace on a frigid day. She tried to ignore it, telling herself she didn't have the luxury of romantic thoughts, not with the storm approaching and the O'Driscolls on their tail. But his eyes held a warmth that was impossible to ignore, a spark that spoke of something deeper than friendship. Alexandria took a deep breath, the scent of the strong, black brew filling her nose. She could feel his eyes on her, the weight of his stare as he took a sip of his coffee, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. The fire crackled in the background, casting flickering shadows across his rugged features, making him seem almost mythical. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy of what could be, if the world wasn't so cruel and unforgiving. Taking a tentative sip, she tried to focus on the warmth of the liquid sliding down her throat, the bitter taste a comforting reminder of the simple joys in life. But Arthur's gaze was a siren's call, and she found her eyes drawn to his, the intensity in them making her heart race. She knew she couldn't ignore it forever, the tension between them was palpable, thick as the winter air outside. With a shaky breath, she set her mug down and pushed back her chair.

"I should go check on John," she said, her voice a little too bright. "Make sure he's warm enough."

Arthur's eyes followed her as she left the cabin. The air in the room felt charged, the silence stretching out like a tightly pulled bowstring. She stepped into the cold, the snow crunching beneath her boots as she made her way to John's cabin. The wind had picked up since she'd been inside, whipping snow into a frenzy. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, the fabric a poor barrier against the biting cold. The door to the cabin creaked open, revealing John lying on his bed, his eyes closed. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light was a single candle flickering on the nightstand. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and damp cloths. John's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the bandages on his face a stark white against his skin. She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her to keep the warmth in. Her heart raced, the encounter with Arthur still fresh in her mind. She took a moment to compose herself, her hand resting on the cold wood of the door as she took deep calming breaths. The quiet was a stark contrast to the turmoil in her chest, the sound of her pulse echoing in her ears. The warmth inside was a welcome embrace from the cold, the smell of damp wool and antiseptic a stark reminder of the harsh realities of their lives. She approached his bed, the floorboards creaking under her weight. John stirred at the sound, his eyes opening to slits as he took in the sight of her.

"Alexandria," he murmured, his voice a raspy whisper.

Alexandria felt her chest tighten with guilt as she soothed him back to sleep. Her voice was soft, a gentle melody that filled the cabin and seemed to calm the very air itself. It was a tune her nana had sung to her, a lullaby from a world that now felt like a distant memory. As the notes danced through the room, John's eyes grew heavy, and his breathing evened out once more. Guilt weighed heavily on Alexandria's shoulders as she watched him drift off. She had never meant to burden him with her troubles, but he had a way of making her feel seen, of making her feel less alone in the world. She knew she couldn't stay long, but she needed this moment- a brief respite from the storm outside and the one that brewed within her. Crossing the cabin, she added a few logs to the fireplace, the flames licking hungrily at the new fuel. The warmth spread through the room, chasing the shadows into the corners and wrapping around John like a blanket. With a sigh, she turned to the table pushed near the fireplace, her eyes scanning the meager supplies. There wasn't much to work with, but she knew how important it was to keep his strength up. Moving quickly and quietly, she sliced a few pieces of jerky and soaked them in a cup of warm water to soften them. Then she mixed with them a bit of stew that had been set aside for lunch, mashing them into a paste that she knew he could manage. The smell was mouthwatering, even in her exhausted state. As she worked, she couldn't help but think of Arthur and the way he looked at her. She had felt something stir in her chest. But here, in the warmth of this cabin, with the sound of John's even breaths, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of the potential future, of a bond that could grow stronger than the cold winter outside. Alexandria sat by the bed, the stew cooling in the bowl on her lap. She took a deep breath, the scent of the food mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood and medicine. The storm outside grew louder, the wind howling like a wild animal, but inside the cabin, it was a sanctuary of quiet and warmth. John stirred again, his eyes opening fully this time. He took in the sight of Alexandria, her hair tumbling around her face in the wild disarray from the wind from earlier and her cheeks had color. She offered him a tentative smile, and he couldn't help but return it, despite the pain that shot through his head.

"Alexandria," he murmured, his voice a croak. "What's all this?"

"Just a little something to keep your strength up," she replied, her voice gentle as she held the spoon to his lips.

John took the offered food gratefully, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You're too kind," he murmured.

Alexandria chuckled a hint of mischief in her tone.

"I noticed someone wasn't too gentle with the cleanings," she said, gesturing to the bruises that had formed around the edges of the bandages. "Looks like you've got quite the nurse."

John chuckled, a pained smile crossing his face.

"Arthur's got a heavy hand," he admitted, wincing as he took another bite. "But he means well."

Alexandria couldn't help but agree. Arthur's gruff exterior was well-known, but she had seen glimpses of his softer side—his concern for the camp, his protectiveness, and his gentle care for John. It was clear that he cared deeply for those around him, even if he didn't always show it in the most conventional ways.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"You just leave those bandages to me," she said with a wink. "I'll make sure they're as gentle as a lamb's kiss."

John chuckled.

"I'd rather not have Arthur's foul mood directed at me," he murmured, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Alexandria's laughter was soft, like the sound of distant church bells.

"I'll handle him," she assured her friend, her voice filled with confidence. "But for now, let's focus on getting you better."

John nodded, his eyes closing in contentment as she continued to spoon-feed him. The storm outside grew more intense, the wind howling like a pack of wolves. Yet, inside the cabin, the two of them felt insulated from the chaos, connected by a bond that went beyond friendship. After John had eaten enough to satisfy her, Alexandria set the bowl aside. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the room. She picked up the roll of bandages and a basin of water, preparing to tend to his wounds.

"Ready for this?" she asked her tone light despite the seriousness of the situation.

John nodded, his gaze never leaving hers.

"I've had worse," he said, his voice filled with the resilience of a man who had seen more than his fair share of battles.

Alexandria couldn't help but chuckle.

"I'll bet," she said, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "But I'll be the judge of that. Now, hold still."

John obeyed, his eyes fluttering shut as she gently began to unwrap the bandages. The skin beneath was an angry red, the edges of the wounds still fresh and raw. She winced in sympathy as she worked, cleaning the cuts with a soft cloth and a gentle touch.

"You need to be more careful," she admonished him, her voice filled with affection.

"I'll try," John murmured, his eyes still closed. "But you know me, I'm all brawn and no brain."

Alexandria couldn't help but laugh.

"Is that so?" she said, her voice filled with amusement. "Well, I suppose I can't argue with that. But next time, maybe you could try to avoid wolves for a little while."

John's eyes snapped open, a playful glint in them.

"And miss all the fun?"

Alexandria rolled her eyes, her smile never wavering.

"You're insufferable," she said, her voice filled with affection as she dabbed at the wound with a wet cloth.

The warm water stung the raw flesh, but John didn't flinch. Alexandria couldn't help but smile to herself as she cleaned the injury.

"If you want Arthur to come over here and give it another go, just say the word," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I don't think you'd be sitting so pretty after that."

John chuckled, his chest rattling slightly from the effort.

"No, thank you," he said, his voice still weak. "I'll take my chances with your gentle touch."

Alexandria rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the warmth that spread through her chest at his words. She focused on her task, her hands steady as she worked. The wind outside continued to pick up, rattling the windows in their frames, but the cabin felt safe and warm. The candle flickered, casting a soft glow across John's face as he watched her with a mix of amusement and gratitude.

"If you need anything rougher, I'm sure I could convince Arthur to pay you another visit," she said, her voice light and teasing.

John's eyes widened slightly in mock horror, and she couldn't resist the urge to laugh. It felt good to find humor in the bleakness of the storm. As she worked, the candlelight danced across John's bandages, casting shadows that made her heart ache for the pain he'd suffered. Finally, the last of the bandages were applied, the clean fabric a stark contrast against his skin. She stepped back, her hands stained with blood and antiseptic. She moved to wash them. Pouring the water over her hands to clean them.

"There," she said with satisfaction. "That should keep you going for a bit."

John offered a grateful smile, his eyes still closed. Alexandria refilled the kettle and put it back as she moved to his side again.

"Thanks, Alexandria," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. "You're a lifesaver."

Alexandria's smile was warm and genuine.

"Don't mention it," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But I'm going to need to find some more supplies for you. We can't have you running out."

John nodded, his eyes still closed.

"You're too good to us," he murmured. "But don't worry about me. Get some rest."

Alexandria chuckled, shaking her head.

"You're the one who needs rest," she said, her voice filled with affection. "You're the one who's been fighting off wolves and God knows what else."

John's eyes fluttered open, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of hero," he said, his voice still weak but filled with humor.

Alexandria's laughter was short, almost a bark, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Delusional is more like it," she said, her tone teasing despite the seriousness of the situation. "Rest up, John. We'll need you back on your feet soon."

John's smile grew slightly, his eyes drooping closed once more.

"I'll do my best," he murmured, his voice already drifting into sleep.

Alexandria took the basin and dirty clothes outside, the cold air a stark contrast to the warmth of the cabin. She dumped the water into a snowbank, watching the red tint fade into the white. The cold stung her hands, but she didn't care. She had work to do. She cleaned the basin and clothes meticulously, the icy water turning her hands red. Once back inside, John's breathing had evened out, the quiet rhythm of his breathing a comforting backdrop. Alexandria collects the dirty dishes, the clank of metal against wood a soothing sound in the otherwise still cabin. She scrubbed the bowl and spoon clean, the cold water stinging her already cold hands. With John's wounds tended to and the cabin as warm as a cocoon in the face of the storm, she knew she had done all she could for the evening. The candles cast a soft glow over the room, the shadows playing across the walls as the flames flickered. The storm outside had grown into a symphony of wind and ice, the trees groaning with the weight of the snow. It was a stark contrast to the gentle crackling of the fire she had stoked before leaving. The warmth of the cabin was a balm to her frozen hands and face.

---

As she stepped into the main cabin, the smell of roasting meat and baking bread hit her like a warm embrace. Susan and Pearson were working in harmony, their movements efficient and practiced. The air was filled with the comforting scents of garlic and rosemary, a promise of a hot meal to come.

"Need a hand?" she offered her voice a little too cheerful.

Susan looked up, her eyes assessing.

"You look done in," she said with a motherly frown. "Let us handle this. Go sit with the others."

Alexandria nodded, her weariness clear. She took a seat by the fire, the warmth enveloping her like a warm blanket. Hosea and Arthur looked up from their conversation, their eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. The unspoken concern in their gazes was a reminder of her vulnerability, despite her best efforts to hide it. Pulling out her cigarettes, she tapped the pack against her thigh, the familiar sound a comforting rhythm in the quiet of the cabin. She offered the pack to Arthur, who took one and leaned over to light it for her, his hand lingering for just a second too long on hers. The brief touch sent a jolt through her, the warmth of his hand a stark contrast to the cold outside. The cigarette between her trembling fingers was a lifeline, the smoke a warm embrace that wrapped around her as she inhaled deeply. She passed the pack to Hosea, who took one with a nod of thanks, his eyes never leaving hers. The silence was thick with unspoken words, the crackle of the fire the only sound that pierced the tension.

"John seems to be doing well," she said, breaking the silence with a forced smile. "The wounds are healing nicely."

Arthur nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You've got a gentle touch," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Thanks for looking out for him."

Alexandria ducked her head, the praise making her cheeks burn.

"It's nothing," she mumbled. "We all have to look out for each other out here."

But the weight of their gazes remained on her, the unspoken question hanging in the air. She took a deep breath and met Arthur's eyes, her heart racing.

"Has Dutch made up his mind about the heist?" she asked, her voice a little too loud in the quiet of the cabin. "Is he joining us for dinner?"

Hosea's eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a puff of his cigarette before answering.

"Dutch is... still working it out," he said, his tone measured. "But he said he'll be here soon enough. I expect him before the food's ready."

Alexandria nodded, her thoughts racing. The mention of Dutch brought a sense of urgency, a reminder of the impending storm—both the one outside and the one with the O'Driscoll Boys. She took a long drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke fill her lungs before releasing it slowly. The act was a silent declaration of her resilience. With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and moved towards the fireplace. The cabin's warmth was a stark contrast to the icy chill of the night, and she felt a pang of guilt for leaving John alone. But she knew he was safe here, surrounded by friends who would protect him. The coffee pot was cold to the touch, the metal a stark contrast to the warmth of the cigarette between her fingers. She filled it with water from the kettle, the liquid steaming and hissing as it hit the metal. The smell of coffee grounds filled the air, a promise of bitterness and warmth to come. Alexandria's hands were steady as she measured out the coffee, her movements methodical and practiced. She had learned long ago that the simple act of making coffee could be a balm for the soul, a moment of peace in a world that was anything but. As she stirred the mixture, the aroma grew stronger, wrapping around her in a comforting embrace. The cabin was a flurry of activity as Susan and Pearson continued to bustle about, preparing the meal. The clang of pans and the murmur of low voices filled the air, but she was in her world, lost in the rhythm of her task. The storm outside was a distant memory, the warmth of the stove a comforting constant. As the coffee brewed, the rich scent filled the cabin, weaving through the air like an invisible thread, drawing everyone closer. The men at the table paused in their conversation, their eyes lingering on her as she moved about the cabin, a silent testament to the comfort she brought to their lives. Alexandria felt their gazes like a gentle caress, a reminder that she was part of something greater than herself. The warmth of the stove at her back was a stark contrast to the chilling wind outside, and she allowed herself a small moment of pride at her place in this band of misfits. She knew that together, they could face anything the world threw at them. The cigarette burned down to the filter, the paper crackling and popping as the flame reached her fingertips. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the butt into the fireplace. It hissed as it hit the embers, sending a small shower of sparks flying up the chimney. Alexandria took a deep breath, the lingering scent of smoke mingling with the rich aroma of coffee that filled the cabin. She had found a small sense of peace in the act of brewing, the simple task a respite from the worries that plagued her mind. As the coffee percolated, the door creaked open and a blast of frigid air swept in, sending a flurry of snowflakes dancing through the room. Dutch stepped inside, his face reddened from the cold and his eyes a mix of exhaustion and determination.

"Dutch," Alexandria called out, pouring steaming coffee into four mugs. "You're just in time.

He stomped the last of the snow from his boots and took the mug she offered, his eyes sweeping over the cabin.

"How's John?" he asked, the concern in his voice belying the coolness of his gaze.

"Resting," she replied, her own eyes never leaving his. "The wounds are clean. He'll be back on his feet in no time."

The tension in the room was palpable as Dutch took a seat by the fire, his eyes on the flickering flames. The heat of the coffee from the mug warmed his hands.

"Dinner's ready!" Susan called out, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

The smell of roast venison, mashed potatoes, and dried bread wafted through the cabin, making stomachs growl in anticipation. The table was set with care, the steaming food a beacon of comfort in the face of the raging storm. Alexandria glanced at Arthur before she quickly moved to grab some food. His eyes followed her, a mix of admiration and something else—something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She didn't dare linger, though, knowing that Hosea had a stern look waiting for anyone who didn't keep their strength up. Her movements were swift as she piled a plate high with venison, potatoes, and bread. She didn't miss the way Arthur's gaze lingered on her, his eyes filled with something that made her heart race. As she turned to grab a knife, she felt a gentle tug on the bread in her hand. She looked up to find Arthur standing next to her, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her tone playful despite the stern look in her eyes.

Arthur's attempt at a scowl was ruined by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"Just making sure everyone gets their fair share," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Alexandria chewed the bread with a mischievous smirk, watching him as he filled his plate. His eyes never left hers, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill at the connection between them. Despite the gravity of their situation, there was something undeniably intimate about sharing a meal in the quiet of the cabin, the storm raging outside. As they sat together at the table, the air grew thick with the smells of food and the unspoken tension between them. Arthur's attempt to maintain his usual stoic demeanor was admirable, but it was clear he was failing. Each time their eyes met, she saw the warmth in his gaze, the affection he tried to hide behind his gruff exterior. The conversation around the table was a mix of camp updates and the latest ideas on what to do when spring arrived. Dutch also joined in on the conversations, his voice filled with the confidence of a man who had survived countless battles. But it was the quiet moments between the words that spoke the loudest—the glances that passed between Arthur and herself, the way his hand brushed hers as he reached for something, the soft smiles that seemed to be just for her. Alexandria took a sip of her coffee, feeling the warmth spread through her chest like a warm embrace. She glanced at Arthur, who was deep in conversation with Hosea. He looked up and caught her eye, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took a bite of his venison. She couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging, a warmth that had nothing to do with the roaring fireplace. Whenever Arthur's gaze drifted back to the conversation, she'd stealthily slide a few more mashed potatoes onto his plate, smothering a giggle when he'd look back and catch her in the act. Each time, his eyes would light up with amusement, and he'd pretend to scold her, but his plate remained untouched. It was a silent dance between them, one that brought a touch of lightness to the otherwise serious atmosphere. The others in the cabin had noticed their exchange, and soon the game grew to include everyone. Each time Arthur was distracted, someone would either pilfer a piece of his food or add to the pile. The stakes grew higher as the night went on, with Pearson at one point sneaking an entire slab of venison onto his plate. The cabin was filled with the low murmur of laughter and the clink of silverware, a welcome reprieve from the tension of their impending mission. But Arthur was not one to be outdone. His sharp eyes missed nothing, and he began to anticipate their moves, swiping back his food before they could claim it. He even started to play along, pretending not to see when someone took a particularly large helping, only to snatch it away at the last second. It was a silent dance of friendship and camaraderie, a testament to the bonds that had formed in the harshness of their lives. The laughter grew louder, the tension of the impending law or the O'Driscolls was momentarily forgotten in the warmth of shared jokes and stolen bites. The candles flickered, casting a warm glow on their faces, the shadows playing across their features like a silent storyteller weaving tales of mischief and adventure. As the plates grew empty and the coffee grew cold, Alexandria felt the weight of the day's events catch up to her. She stood, the chair scraping against the wooden floor, and stretched, the fire's warmth seeping into her bones.

"Well, I reckon I'll turn in," she announced, her voice a little too loud in the suddenly quiet room.

The others nodded, understanding the need for rest. Before she left she offered Hosea and Arthur one last cigarette. Hosea took the cigarette she offered, the tip glowing red as he brought it to his lips. Arthur took one as well, the paper crackling as he lit it with a match, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Rest well, Alexandria," Hosea said, his voice filled with a warmth that seemed to follow her as she left the room.

Alexandria nodded, her eyes lingering on Arthur's for a moment before she turned away. The cold air outside the cabin was a sharp reminder of the storm, but she didn't mind the chill as she made her way to the women's quarters. The snow crunched beneath her boots, a rhythmic sound that accompanied her through the darkness.