The back of Stacey’s head struck the floor.

With a grunt, he struggled to feel around in the dark for the axe, which had slipped out of his hand. Something sharp dug into his stomach, ripping out a large chunk of flesh. In the midst of the snarling, the neon light appeared for a moment, before engulfing everything in pitch black. Deep, shooting pain rushed up Stacey’s arms and legs, and all he could hear was the creature’s rattles. He struggled to pick himself off the ground, but one of the being’s limbs forcefully pinned him down.

Gritting his teeth, Stacey attempted to use his left knee and drive it into its side, but it grew agitated and tore at his wound again. Thick saliva dripped from the widened jaw, which was filled with yellow, crooked teeth. Its hot breath was only a few inches from his ear, and he had to turn his head to the side as the creature’s thick claws left trails of red against his ripped shirt. His sweaty hair was plastered against the side of his face. He couldn’t move—the creature’s weight pressed harder against him.

The room began to fade.

Stacey could hear the creature snarl, wincing in pain as it began to take another bite into his flesh. As much as he tried, its grasp was too strong for him to break. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the excruciating pain in his body. There was a gruesome snap, causing him to clench his jaw and nearly scream. He barely held it back. Splintered bone tore through his shirt sleeve. When he dared to look again, he saw that his left arm was between the creature’s jaw, split almost neatly into two. He couldn’t see its face; only its eyes, which shone in the dark like two green spheres, never blinking.

Eliza, please help me.

The creature slashed at his face, causing warm metal to leak down his swollen throat. The room was now silent, with the exception of Stacey’s labored breaths. Beads of sweat traveled down his forehead and dripped off the tip of his nose, landing on his protruding collarbones. His gray eyes focused on the dead fireplace, with short bursts of steam still lingering from the blackened, smoldering logs. Digging the heels of his worn boots against the dirt floor, he slowly pushed himself against the surface, attempting to gradually inch himself towards the hearth.

A faint rattling noise filled the air as the creature adjusted its body weight on top of his. With its claws embedded into his flesh, each slight movement was agonizing, but he forced himself to keep his gaze on the fireplace. Using his good arm, he very slowly reached out, feeling the warmth of the ashes gather under his fingers. The burn of the strain sank into his right shoulder. He remained still for a moment, listening as the being became more occupied with his body. Biting down on his tongue, he flung a handful of cinders directly into the creature’s eyes.

It released a shrill howl.

As it stumbled back, Stacey directly struck it into the face with his boot. He didn’t know how he had scrambled to his feet, and he was frantically feeling around in the dark for the axe handle. The creature, now blinded, lunged towards him in a rage, causing the table to flip over and his pots and pans to crash against the ground.

It quickly climbed upon the walls, leaving uneven scratches across the surface with its black nails. Stacey was barely able to stand due to the excruciating pain in his stomach, and his right hand brushed against the wooden handle of the axe. He immediately snatched it off the ground.

The sound of glass breaking echoed in the shack, and the creature, crouching on its hind legs, observed him through his smashed window. As it was beginning to leap off, Stacey, using his only good arm, swung the axe at its shadow. The blade skidded and hopped for a moment, before catching into the creature’s meaty flesh. It screamed, its limbs contorted and flailing. Something wet splattered on the table and landed on the ground. The rattling noise occurred, like there was a thousand snakes below.

Stacey repeatedly raised the axe, before bringing it down a second time. And again. And again and again, even as the rattling stopped and it was just his frantic, stifled breaths. His right arm was burning, his left one a mangled mess that hung lifelessly on his side, but he kept swinging the axe until the blade grew completely dull and the creature remained as still as the earth.

He took a few steps back, his face coated in a layer of sweat. The axe slipped out of his hand and landed on the ground with a clatter. Due to the first rays of sunlight beginning to seep through the cold air blowing through the broken window, he could make out the creature’s decapitated head and the shredded remains of its body. Stacey slumped to the floor, observing the wrecked state of his home. He was struggling to breathe, gasping so hard that his chest stung.

He did not know or understand what he was looking at. He did not understand how he had moved to the table, picked up the edge of the head and the bits of the creature’s dark, slimy body. Or how he had dragged it outside into the snow, stumbling down the porch and the knocked over piles of wood. As he set it ablaze, he weakly leaned against the porch for support, shaking uncontrollably for a long time. The stench that arose from the flames was putrid, nearly made him vomit.

The morning light settled upon the branches above, casting orange and purple and pink. It had stopped snowing, but a fresh layer of ice had gathered on top of the dense forest in front of him. His breaths were visible in the cold air, which bit down on his bloody, torn shirt and exposed flesh. He did not look at the ashes that now sat in front of him.

In a daze, he ran out towards the trees.

* * * * * * *

Stacey ended up tripping and landing on the snow multiple times. Branches scratched his face, but he pushed them back. The coldness was briefly seeping into his flesh, but his body was completely numb. His mind was spinning—maybe he was hallucinating. It was a bad trip, he had been drinking again. He often saw things he couldn’t really explain in his dreams, and they were quite strange sometimes, but this was something he never knew he was able of concocting in his mind.

No, he had been sober for nearly a week.

He rushed down a hill, snow clinging to his dark hair. His blood stained shirt was plastered against his torso. His lungs were burning, and his busted arm was beginning to throb. His gray eyes hopelessly scanned the vast green in front of him. The little one. He needed to find the child. She wouldn’t stand a chance, being so young. There were probably more out there, although he wasn’t sure what it was. And if one ever found its way towards her, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for it. For not being there to protect a child, just like he wasn’t when Eliza and his girls—

Stacey roughly yanked at his ear.

Focus.

He slowed down and turned his head to the side. Where would a child think of seeking refuge in this cold? While he was preparing himself for the worst, he figured that the lass was a bit more clever than he thought. Unless she’d left the area already, maybe found a place in the town. He’d been out for only a few hours, but he’d checked every crevice, tree, bush, and ditch, just as he had so many times before. A wave of panic overpowered him, and he bit his tongue.

His boots crunched against the snow as he stopped and gazed at the towering mountains. Shivering, he began to make his way up towards them, making sure to keep an eye on the shadows. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins.

He regretted not bringing his axe.

He really was a goddamned fool.

The young man trudged through the snow, clutching at his useless broken arm with his hand. His braced himself as he approached a small, moss smelling cave just not too far from his shack, which he really did not want to return to. He paused when he saw a small bundle of wet twigs and sticks at the opening next to a few dirty mushrooms.

His heart skipped a beat.

A large green pile of leaves and shrubbery met his eyes as he entered the cave. Slowly, he approached the little girl’s still figure halfway buried between it, curled up into a ball. Her breaths were shallow and delayed, and her lips and toes were turning blue.

Stacey sank to his knees, cursing himself. He reached out and placed a hand on her forehead. To his great dismay, he could see that she was burning up with a fever. Ignoring the pain shooting in his broken arm, he scooped her up as tightly as he could with his other one. Leaves clung to her rags and the blackened soles of her bare feet. She weighed less than a bag of feathers, and he could see how her bones were beginning to show through. Her shut eyelids were swollen.

“I’m sorry,” Stacey shakily whispered, although he wasn’t sure why he kept repeating those words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He exhaled as he slightly rocked her back and forth, before briefly closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Her bald head leaned against his shoulder. As he headed back to his shack to retrieve his coat to wrap her up in, it began to snow.

* * * * * * *

The town of Herskes had seen many things.

They had seen famine, drought, and the plague of 1725 that had wiped out half of the population. They had seen a series of floods and earthquakes that had swept entire homes and businesses off their foundations.

It was just past six ‘o’ clock in the morning, where many people were beginning to prepare for the day. The Merriman’s dress shop, located on Eleventh Boulevard between the butcher’s and the marketplace, was about to do the same. The candles were lit, and Mrs. Shelby Merriman had added a few logs to her warm fire after preparing a large mug of coffee for herself, with extra cream and two cubes of white sugar. She took a loud sip and placed it down upon the table.

Her husband lay upstairs snoring in their bed in the small flat above their shop, so she might as well opened early. She was a tired, middle-aged woman, and was busy adjusting a petticoat upon a mannequin when she paused at the window. Startled by the crowd outside, she pushed back the curtain.

Stacey trudged through the town, struggling to see through the snowfall, carrying a small curled up figure. He could make out faces. So many faces, people shouting and pointing, scattering away from him like ants. Staring at his blood soaked clothing, and his left arm dangling in an unnatural position, like a tree branch blowing in the wind.

“I need a doctor,” he frantically shouted. “Please, someone send me a doctor. I have a child who is ill.”

“Murderer,” a woman cried out. “We have a murderer in our midst.” There were murmurs spreading across the growing crowd. “Go home, you drunkard. Go home.”

People began to throw rocks at him, and a few struck his body, but Stacey made sure to shield the unconscious little girl. Despite the fierce cold, heat coursed through his body as his temper finally got the best of him.

”Someone help.” It came out in a roar, causing those near him to scramble back as he aggressively stepped at them. He was breathing heavily, long strands black hair hanging over his wide gray eyes. “Someone help me.”

A brief silence passed over the crowd.

Stacey held the child as close as possible, while trying to keep her warm the best he could. He did not want to leave her alone at his shack—he didn’t dare to. In the corner of his eye, he could see the councilmen exiting their homes, dressed in their warm fur coats and cloaks.

“I need a doctor,” he kept crying out, over and over again, until his throat was sore. His nose and cheeks were red with the cold. “Send me the doctor, please. I need a doctor.”

”Whose blood is that upon you?” a farmer demanded.

”The devil’s,” Stacey snarled.

“What is the meaning of this?” one the higher ranking councilmen—Paul Stilton—thundered. He wagged a finger at Stacey, recoiling in disgust at his bloodied clothing. “You! I told you never to step foot in this town again. You ought to be—”

”Send me the fucking doctor, or I’ll make you wish that you still had yer own blasted foot.”

Stilton’s face grew red under Stacey’s cold gaze. “You disrespect me again and you’ll spend the next month in a jail cell, Holloman,” he replied. “I guarantee it. Not likely for you to be here in one of your drunken brawls is it? You are disturbing the peace, and these good people are all preparing for an honest day’s work. I dare say that concept might be quite foreign for you. But given the blood on your shirt, I do believe you may have encountered a poor soul who has had the misfortune to pass by that dirty little hovel of yours.” Stilton tilted his head. “Or was it the child’s parents? Putting on a good act to cover up what you’ve really done?”

Stacey’s gray eyes narrowed.

“Go home, you conniving son of a bitch,” Thomas Alden hollered, pushing his way through the crowd. He had a limp, and he spat at him, causing the crowd to jeer him on. A few nearby men chuckled. “We have no room for such incompetent fools.”

“If I do not get this lass to a doctor,” Stacey said in a choked, tight voice, “she’ll die. And her blood will be upon yer hands. I beseech ye to ask to the doctor to come to me.”

“We will do no such thing,” Stilton coldly said, folding his arms. A few other councilmen already had their weapons drawn. “Now off with you.”

A broken expression crossed the young man’s face. He then gave Stilton a long look, before readjusting the coat wrapped around the little girl, to protect her from the icy wind. Without a word, he turned around and continued to stumble the opposite way, leaving tracks in the snow. The crowd continued to yell slurs at him, but not once did he look back. Stilton smugly grinned as a few of his comrades patted his back and laughed.

Shelby Merriman lowered the curtain from her window. After pondering for a moment, she reached for a large basket sitting directly on top of her shelf and selected four shifts, two nightgowns, and a crock of soap. She mumbled to herself, partially asleep, as she entered her small kitchen and placed half a loaf of bread and four large apples into a burlap sack. Just as she finished securing the top into a sturdy knot, she heard Sebastian Merriman coming down the steps. His stockings were mismatched, and his eyes were groggy with sleep. His gray hair resembled a crow’s nest.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

“What is with all of the commotion outside?” he asked, stretching his arms. He squinted his eyes. “It is far too early for such ruckus.”

Mrs. Merriman threw her shawl around her shoulders and secured her bonnet. “Your breakfast is waiting on the table, my dear,” she said. “I shall only be a minute.”

He gave her a confused look. “Where are you off to at this time? And why are we opening half an hour early? It is not even seven.”

The woman smirked and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Why, with everyone outside, it is the most perfect time to have business going.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could even get out a sentence, she had already slammed the door shut.

* * * * * * *

Stacey grunted as he sliced the log cleanly in half with his busted axe. It was far more difficult to keep it steady on the stump with only one arm. He had tidied up the best he could in his shack; scrubbed the blood off the floor and cleaned every spare blanket he owned. After stuffing his mattress with hay and grass, he made sure that the child was bundled up warmly in his coat nearby the fireplace, which he was working hard to keep going. His face was dripping with sweat.

The good news was that the blue color on her was fading away, being replaced by a rosy pink, although she lay almost lifeless on the mattress. Stacey had mindlessly paced around, went outside, and chopped up some more wood. He needed to find food and another doctor for her soon, but his body was in such pain that he could hardly stand.

As he bent down to pick up the split logs, the sound of hooves pounding against the ground made him look up. He stumbled forward at the sight of a wagon dragging through the snow, pulled by a frail horse. An elderly man and a chubby woman sat in front.

Stacey took off his ragged hat as he slowly approached them, almost in a daze.

The woman raised her chin. When she spoke, her voice was shrill, high pitched. “Are you Holloman?”

Stacey stared at her.

The doctor politely nodded at him and climbed off the seat. He said nothing about the blood on the young man’s stained clothing; his shirt in tatters. He said nothing about the ashes of the creature that it belonged to in the snow only a few feet away from them. Yet the look on his face told Stacey everything he needed to know.

The horse loudly snorted, interrupting his thoughts.

“Good morning. You must be Mr. Holloman. My name is Dr. Anderson.”

“Morning,” Stacey hoarsely replied, although this morning had been anything but good. He threw his hat to the ground. “I—I ain’t got any money on me, but perhaps I could—”

The man waved his hand. “Nonsense. Mrs. Merriman here covered my bill. I would like to see the child as soon as possible.”

Stacey studied the woman, who was lowering herself from the wagon. She brushed the mud from her skirts and held onto the basket and the burlap sack she clutched with her ringed fingers.

“I have brought victuals for the little one,” Mrs. Merriman stated. “Some clothes and good food. I don’t think you have any of your own.”

“Set it down over there,” Stacey stiffly said, fighting the urge to give her a piece of his mind.

She gave him a sharp glance, before walking past him, carefully stepping onto the porch. The ribbons from her bonnet blew in the wind.

Once the young man stood in the threshold, he watched as the doctor pulled up a stool next to the mattress and reached into his own satchel, taking out a strange device. Mrs. Merriman continued to march around the one-room shack, her polished shoes crunching against the dirt floor. She frowned at the sight of the cobwebs in the corners. Her presence alone made Stacey uncomfortable.

Why the hell is she here?

”This is appalling,” she announced, dragging her index finger across the dust on the fireplace mantle. “No wonder the young’un is so ill. It is no place for a young lady. And you are incapable of raising any child.” When she turned and faced Stacey, she adjusted her bonnet. “Surely, you have plans to send her to a reputable household, Mr. Holloman. I wouldn’t mind taking her off your hands. My Clara could use a decent playmate.”

“She ain’t going to Herskes,” Stacey said through his teeth. “That shitty, worthless, good for nothing town ain’t fit for—”

“Mr. Holloman,” she coldly replied, placing the items she held upon on the table with a loud thump. “Since I am showing compassion, I suggest you choose your words a little more wisely. It is not your decision to make.”

Stacey glared at her, but remained silent.

After examining the child’s eyes, ears, and throat, Dr. Anderson lowered his spectacles and glanced up at Stacey. “She has a very high fever. I ought to bleed her, to purge the pestilence from her body. We shall start the procedure the very next day.”

“Bleed—” Panic rushed through Stacey as he took a step forward. “No, no, no, now hold on. You can’t cut into her. That’ll make it worse.”

“Mr. Holloman, you need to not question my professional opinion. The child must be bled.” Dr. Anderson rose from the stool and closed his satchel with a loud snap. “Now, let’s see what we can do about that arm of yours.”

”Ye won’t bleed that little girl.”

”I do not take orders from you. She shall be bled, and that is the end of the discussion.”

“Like hell it is.”

Mr. Anderson gave him a hard look. “You will not interfere. And if you threaten me, I will report you to the authorities. We both know that your reputation is at stake.”

“And I say you ain’t bleeding her,” Stacey yelled. His voice filled the room. “That’s final.”

Mrs. Merriman loudly sighed, causing both men to look at her. “The child is absolutely filthy. Do you not have a basin I could use? A good bath could do wonders.” She rolled up her sleeves. “My mother always told me that cleanliness is the first step to recovery. I shall boil some water.”

”Certainly,” Dr. Anderson calmly said. “Mr. Holloman, if you would please wait outside?”

* * * * * * *

The thick white cast and sling around Stacey’s left arm hurt him far more than his back. His whole body ached and the intense cravings for whiskey or bourbon were driving him mad. The large bandages around his torso only made the pain worse. Despite how every bone in his body rebelled against him, he found himself leaning sideways against the front steps, fighting to keep his eyes open. Dr. Anderson had gone out to smoke his pipe and—

A high-pitched scream filled the air, followed by a crash. It startled him awake, making him wonder how long he had dozed off.

Lord.

Stacey rushed to his feet and opened the door. Mrs. Merriman was drenched in water and soap suds, wringing out her soaked skirts. He could hear Dr. Anderson behind him, making his way on the steps. As he approached them, there was a small figure curled up in the corner.

”Well, I never,” Mrs. Merriman exploded. “What a wicked, wicked girl.” She pointed her finger at the hysterical child’s shadow. “You ought to be ashamed. Here you have good people looking after you, and you dare attack me? Filthy animal you are. Filthy, rotten beast!”

”That’s enough,” Stacey quietly said.

Mrs. Merriman’s eyes fell upon him. “And you. I’ve had it with you. This is your gratitude? You are indebted to me, and I expect full compensation within the next week.”

”I’ll pay you yer blasted money,” he replied, trying to speak over the child’s screams. “Now get the hell out of my house.”

“Mr. Holloman, that is no way to talk to a lady,” Dr. Anderson interjected. “You shall not defend such behavior.”

“I said get out,” Stacey snapped. “Both of you. Ye scarin’ her. She ain’t gonna calm down till ye leave.”

“I scared her?” Mrs. Merrimann exclaimed. Her face turned red. “She ought to be beaten. A good whooping is what she needs.”

Stacey’s patience was running thin. “Just go.”

A brief silence filled the room.

The little girl continued to sob, tears spilling down her cheeks and nose. She had been scrubbed pink, and all the thick layers of ringworm crust upon her bald head were gone, leaving open red sores. She rushed near the bed, before yanking off one of the woolen blankets and wrapping it around her thin frame. With one swift motion, she crawled underneath a chair. Her large ears stuck outwards.

Mrs. Merriman held out her right wrist, exposing a red mark. “She bit me. How disgusting. Just jumped up and knocked over all this water right after I changed her.” She gave Stacey a dirty look. “You teach her some manners, lest my husband press charges against you for what she’s done.”

The young man watched them make their way out into the cold morning air. With a heavy sigh, he slowly closed the door and leaned his back against it. He felt the child’s large brown eyes on him; perhaps it was best that he wait outside to give her some space, but he had a lingering fear that she would run off into the woods again and stay hidden. Like a bunny, with those big ears, he thought.

He waited for the child’s wails to die down.

As the little girl continued to stare at him, she slightly rocked herself, hiccuping loudly from time to time. Her small hands clutched the blanket she had wrapped around her thin frame, and her curled bare feet had left prints against the dirt floor.

Indeed, Mrs. Merriman had cleaned her up well, and she looked much better than before. There were still droplets of water upon her bald head, and the white nightgown was so large on her that her bare feet were barely visible beneath the hemline. Her round brown eyes were wet with tears, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

The sight made Stacey break a little on the inside.

”Don’t cry,” he whispered.

She crouched behind the bed frame, peeking out at him.

” ‘Tis alright, little one.” The aching was returning to his chest—there was nothing he despised more than seeing her so very frightened. Even worse, it was his fault. “You don’t have to be afraid.” His voice was quieter than the wind. “Please, don’t be afraid. And you don’t have to hide from me.”

The child loudly sniffed.

“Easy.” Stacey slowly knelt down to her level and glanced at the floor for a moment. Then he spoke soft, real soft. “I won’t hurt you.”

A piece of wood broke off in the fireplace. The heat in the room was comforting, despite what events had occurred only hours ago. When she was ready for it, he’d tell her about the beast he’d seen. He knew that no one else in Herskes would believe him.

“I know yer scared. But I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let nothing happen to you.”

She glanced at the cast he wore on his left arm, then back at him, before wrapping herself tightly in the blanket.

“Now, Bunny, you going tell me yer name?”

Silence.

He placed a hand on his chest. “Stacey.”

An awed expression crossed her face.

“Can you at least tell me where yer from? Mebbe we can see if we can get you back to yer ma and pa.”

He rose again and took a step forward, but that only seemed to frighten the child even more, causing her to run to the opposite side of the room, nearly tripping on her long nightgown. Her bare feet made light tapping sounds against the ground.

Stacey immediately sat down once more, quickly realizing that his height intimidated her. “How about I stay over here, Bunny? Does that work?”

The little girl gave a brief nod and began to suck her thumb.

“Very well,” he replied, crossing his legs. He wanted to ask her again about her parents, but realized that she most likely wasn’t going to mention them any time soon.

She remained still, watching him like an eagle. Stacey picked up the burlap sack that Mrs. Merriman left behind. He opened it, pulled out a bright red apple, and held it out to her. She flinched again.

”Ye need to eat,” he said. “Here. You can work on this while I get some soup started.”

The little girl took one look at him and vomited all over her clean nightgown and his blanket. She was shaking and crying, before upchucking some more dark fluid, hugging her knees tightly with saliva dripping from her mouth. Her large brown eyes focused on him again.

A lump rose in Stacey’s throat. He set down the apple, got to his feet again and he made his way around the room. It took him some rummaging, but he managed to find the doll. When he knelt down to her level, she whimpered. Immediately she scrambled away from his shadow and rushed to the wall, pressing her back against it.

He paused before slowly holding out the doll, which looked much smaller in his palms. “You remember her, yes? She’s yours.” He paused. “I think she’s missed you quite a bit.”

The little girl did not move, shielding herself as if she was expecting a blow. “Steal,” she faintly said, her dark eyes growing big.

”No…” Stacey’s voice trailed off. It took him a moment to speak again—God, he despised himself for ever saying that. It burned worse than hot coals against his flesh. “No, Bunny. She belongs with you. It was very, very, wrong of me to frighten you off like that the other day, and yell and say all those horrible things. I didn’t mean any of them, hear? I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

She did not reply, just curled up tighter against the wall. Her lower chin was quivering.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered.

That was when he could clearly see the purple bruises and marks visible on her arms and legs. It destroyed Stacey inside, made him furious, and he cursed the people who had been involved. He cursed himself.

He then placed the doll down on the ground and held both of his hands out towards her, strands of dark hair falling over his face.

”Please…don’t be afraid.”

The little girl backed away, clutching onto that blanket for dear life. She was shaking.

To his surprise, Stacey’s vision was getting blurry, the same way it had been in the cave. He didn’t recognize his voice being so soft—it seemed to belong to someone else. But it came out of him, flowing like a steady stream. This whole day so far had been strange, almost a dream.

“You can trust me,” he continued. “I will not hurt you. I won’t let anyone else hurt you. That is the promise I make to you, and an oath that I shall carry with me to the grave.”

The child continued to stare at him.

“Now, you listen to me. If anyone bothers you, you tell me. You tell me. You let me take care of them. Ain’t nobody in the world has the right to do such things to you—especially hit you. No one. You understand me?”

A nod.

”Aye,” Stacey hoarsely whispered. “Very good.” He slowly beckoned at her with his fingers. “Let’s get some water. All that burnin’ up and carryin’ on gotta leave you parched. Would wear me out.” He raised an eyebrow. “And I know you are tired enough as it is, Bunny, so there’s no point in pretending you ain’t.”

She shrunk away again, hugging herself.

”Now, now,” the young man murmured. “Once yer good as new, we’ll figger out what do next. But I won’t have you in here, burnin’ up with fever and with no fluids in ye.”

The little girl took a few timid steps forward, before placing her much smaller palms on top of his, noticing the hardened yellow callouses that had formed below his fingers. She had never seen such gigantic hands, not even Hester’s or the Headmistress’s could compare. They looked like they could crush solid rock.

“It’s alright.” He gave her own a soft, warm squeeze. “Come. Let’s get ye cleaned up.”

Shyly, she continued to stare at him with her large brown eyes, trying to make sense of his facial features and the strange white sling he had on.

Stacey slowly lifted her up and secured her in his right arm. She clung to him like a leech. The ground seemed so very far away from her, but she knew that he wouldn’t drop her.

She stuck her thumb into her mouth, shivering. Once Stacey carried her outside in the cool morning air, the sun was in the middle of the sky. He grabbed a wet rag and wiped her face and nightgown the best he could, she took several long drinks from the cold water he had in the barrel with a dipper. She had indeed been thirsty. Her eyelids were halfway open, and by the time Stacey gently lowered her on the mattress next to the fireplace and tucked a blanket around her, she had fallen fast asleep, her thumb still in her mouth.

He placed the doll next to her.

* * * * * *

Stacey attempted to set up some traps for the next couple of days, the best way he could with only one arm. He was useless with a cast and sling.

The lass was in a deep slumber, only waking up when he tried to get some water or willow tea into her. She ended up bringing it all up all over herself. The ordeal left her far more exhausted than before, but Stacey cleaned her up each time.

In the back of his mind, he feared that she would pass in her sleep. He sure to keep his axe close to his side and constantly kept his eye on the door. He himself was incredibly fatigued, having only slept a couple hours each day on the porch, but his anxiety was stronger than ever when evening fell. He took a bite of bread while carefully rationing what little food they had, and continued to scout the area.

Shivers ran down his spine when he spied bright green fragments lying amongst the charred ashes in the snow one morning. He bent down and picked one up, examining it between his thumb and index finger.

Not too far from the shack, tracks led into the trees ahead.

Fresh tracks.