freeze

The first hard freeze came too early--one night it was clear and bright and the next morning a thick fog had crept in and coated everything with ice, making the world at once impossibly beautiful and impossibly cold. I was already ill-prepared for the autumn--as I woke shivering in my tent I wasn't sure I'd survive to see nightfall. All the firewood I'd spent most of yesterday gathering was coated in ice, and my tent was frozen stiff as well. No fire, no tent, and all I had left of food was some mushrooms and wild berries I'd gathered on the way in. So I dressed myself as warmly as I could--which was not warm enough--and I left my tent and I walked and promised myself not to stop for anything.

At first the dull monotony of the journey helped keep my mind from focusing on the cold, but then the forest thinned and a bitter wind began to blow and the only thing I could think about was how much it hurt. And then my mind pulled away, and I was somewhere far above, watching this poor miserable creature trudge her way across the icy roads. Her pain was palpable even from my remote vantage, but it was no longer my own. Her fate was no longer mine. I watched her stumble her way into a village, and finally collapse within view of an inn. Perhaps she cried out, or perhaps someone saw her--someone ran out to drag her inside, the poor thing. And then everything went black.

I was more or less myself again when the world returned, wrapped in blankets. Someone had put me in a change of clothes--nothing I owned was this warm--and tucked in some hot water bottles. And someone--a young woman--was watching me. When she was satisfied that I was well enough, she led me to the common room and introduced me to "the regulars." We spent the night just chatting and for once it felt like home.

I shouldn't have stayed. Trouble always found me sooner or later, and I'd rather it happen around strangers than friends. But I tried saying I'd leave, when everyone had gone home and it was just me and her, cleaning up and finishing off a mug of hot cider together, and she wouldn't hear it.

"The roads aren't going to get better from here," she said. "We've got room to spare and could use an extra set of hands around the place. It's going to be a hard winter. Please stay?"

"Until spring," I told her. It's so much easier to stay if you really believe it's only temporary.