Chapter 2

By the time Jennifer managed to drag the guy back inside, she was barely hanging on—completely wiped out.

She had no clue how she managed it. He didn't look big, but he was dead weight. She hauled him along, leaving a long mark in the snow.

Her mother managed to get off the bed and stood in the doorway, watching, coughing so hard she was doubled over.

"Put... put him on the bed..." Molly said weakly.

"Mom, you're sick yourself. How can you—" Jennifer protested.

"Put him on the bed," Molly insisted.

Jennifer gritted her teeth, dragged him inside, and dropped him onto her mother's bed.

Molly shuffled over and went to feel his pulse.

Jennifer suddenly remembered that her mom had learned medicine from her grandfather when she was young. Even though she hadn't used those skills since moving to the mountains, the foundation was still there.

Molly's hand rested on his wrist, her brow furrowed even more.

"He's hurt too badly," she said, pulling her hand back. "That sword wound on his waist; if it had been half an inch over, he'd be dead. He's got several old wounds too, some from arrows, some... from blades."

Jennifer looked down at the guy.

His face was smeared with blood, making it impossible to tell what he really looked like. But now that her mom mentioned it, she noticed his whole body was covered in scars—old and new, layered over each other like a map crisscrossed with lines.

"I'll go boil some water," she said.

When she brought the hot water in, her mother had already started undressing him.

Jennifer set the basin down by the bed and turned to leave.

"Don't go," Molly said. "Come give me a hand."

Jennifer paused for a moment, then turned back.

He lay there shirtless, and just like her mom said, his body was covered in scars—old and new, crisscrossing everywhere. The most noticeable was the fresh wound on his side, the flesh split open and looking absolutely brutal.

She just gave it a quick look, then bowed her head and focused on helping Molly clean him up.

Molly's hands were shaking.

It wasn't fear—it was because she was sick. Jennifer knew her mom was just toughing it out.

"Let me do it, Mom," Jennifer said.

"Do you even know how?"

"You can teach me."

Molly just glanced at her and said nothing more.

Jennifer took the cloth from her mom and, doing exactly as she was told, gently cleaned the clotted blood around the wound, bit by bit. Her hands were steady—way steadier than Molly's.

The guy stayed unconscious the whole time.

Whenever she touched a certain spot, his brow would twitch.

Jennifer stopped what she was doing and glanced at him.

He was still out cold.

"Apply the medicine," Molly said, handing Jennifer a small bottle.

Jennifer took it and sprinkled the powder onto the wound. It was her mom's own special blend, made from a family recipe and mountain herbs. Normally, she'd be stingy with it, but this time, she used it generously.

Once the wound was handled, Molly told her to go cook up some medicine.

When Jennifer brought the medicine back, Molly had already pulled a blanket over the guy and was leaning against the bed, trying to catch her breath.

"Mom, you should rest. I'll feed him," Jennifer said.

Molly nodded, leaned against the bed, and closed her eyes.

Jennifer sat down by the bed with the bowl of medicine, looking at him with his eyes still tightly shut.

'How am I supposed to get him to take this?' she wondered.

She held the bowl to his lips, but the medicine just trickled down the corner of his mouth—not a drop went in.

After thinking it over, Jennifer reached out, gently tilted his chin, and pried his mouth open.

His brow twitched.

She brought the bowl to his lips again, and this time managed to get a few mouthfuls down. For every bit she got in, half of it spilled out. By the time she was done, his collar was soaked.

Jennifer didn't pay it any mind. She set the bowl aside, pulled the blanket up over him, and got up to gather the bloodstained cloths.

The snow kept coming down.

Molly had drifted off at some point, her breaths quick and faint. The guy was still unconscious, his brow tightly knit, like he was fighting through pain even in his sleep.

Jennifer sat by the hearth, carefully washing each bloodstained cloth and hanging them near the fire to warm and dry.

The firelight danced across her face.

Those eyes flashed through her mind again.

Eyes as sharp as a knife, so dark they were almost intimidating.

'How did someone like him end up in these mountains?' Jennifer thought.