AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Claudia
I zipped my jacket up to my chin, the cold gnawing through the layers of clothing as mere whispers against my skin. The wind howled like a chorus of wraiths outside the tent, relentless in its fury. My breath hung in the air, a ghostly fog in the beam of my flashlight. I rubbed my hands together, but the friction offered little warmth against the creeping chill.
The storm must have built for days, nature’s crescendo, before it unleashed its full might upon the world. Ice clung to the fabric of my tent with greedy fingers, and I listened to the branches above groan under the weight of snow, sounding like bones on the verge of snapping.
“Stay warm,” they said, simply.
My makeshift bed—a sleeping bag laid out over a yoga mat for extra insulation—offered scant comfort. I burrowed deeper into it, willing warmth into my limbs. I imagined a fire crackling nearby, but the fantasy faded too quickly.
The survivalist in me kicked into gear. I rummaged through my backpack with numb fingers, pulling out hand warmers—those little lifesavers—and shook them furiously to activate whatever magic they contained. The cold, a living presence, smothered their warming attempts.
"Come on," I whispered, pleading with the hand warmers to defy nature.
I pressed them against my cheeks and tucked them inside my gloves, seeking any shred of heat. The storm’s biting breath won. Each gust rattled my shelter and laughed at my attempts to stay warm.
I leaned back against my pack and pulled the sleeping bag up to my nose. My teeth chatted with a rhythm I wished I could dance to—if only to generate some warmth. My watch showed well past midnight as I froze while time crawled to a halt.
I didn't care about the adventure anymore, or chasing legends, or proving anything. Zunnik or whatever this thing between us held no sway. Survival took center stage.
My eyes flitted to where his cave lay hidden among the towering pines and rugged terrain, obscured by night and tempest alike. The thought of his presence somewhere out there in this maelstrom offered an odd comfort, even as isolation wrapped its icy arms around me.
My mind wandered to Zunnik—stoic and mysterious—and I couldn’t help but wonder how he fared against such weather. Did he feel this same bone-deep chill? Did his kind even feel cold?
I huddled closer into myself and thought of his rough voice rumbling through stories by firelight—stories that now seemed so distant amidst this frozen hell. Every tale he told hinted at resilience and the time came to find mine.
Currently, I needed to withstand the shivers and reject the alluring sleep that promised freedom from cold and pain.
No, not yet.
I forced myself onto elbows and knees, fumbling for more layers—anything—in the bottomless pit in my backpack. But as each new gust lashed at my flimsy nylon fortress and snow seeped beneath its edges, every effort felt as futile as holding back winter itself with a candle flame.
Still, I wrapped myself in every scrap of fabric I could find—an extra sweater here, a pair of wool socks there—and braced against the storm’s relentless siege. I could do nothing more while being alone in this frozen darkness.
I barely clung to the edges of sleep, the storm’s relentless assault keeping me tethered to a world cracking at the seams. A vicious gust of wind buffeted my tent, which could tear away and leave me exposed to the fury of the elements. My fingers curled into the sleeping bag, as if I could anchor myself with sheer willpower.
Then, out of the wailing winds, a distinct sound cut through—a thudding, purposeful rhythm. Footsteps? No, it couldn’t be. I strained my ears against the howl of the wind. The unmistakable footsteps grew louder, closer.
My heart raced, hammering against my ribcage like it wanted out. Who or what would brave this storm? My mind raced with possibilities, but deep down, I knew. Zunnik.
The tent flap ripped open suddenly, snow and wind bursting in like an avalanche. Zunnik’s towering silhouette filled the opening, his eyes two glowing embers in the storm.
“Claudia!" His voice, although almost swallowed by the storm's roar, carried a commanding warmth that brooked no argument. “Claudia! This is no place for you tonight.”
Amidst the storm, he reached out a hand, and without hesitation, I grasped it. His grip warmed my hand. With his help, I got to my feet with my stiff and uncooperative legs.
“We need to take down your tent,” he said over the howl of the wind, “or it will not.”
My brain felt frozen, sluggish, but I nodded in agreement. We worked together in silence—save for the occasional grunt or curse when fingers fumbled or stakes refused to budge from the frozen ground. Every moment outside sapped our strength as we battled both nature and nylon.
The tent finally collapsed with a sad sort of finality, and we hastily stuffed it into its bag—not caring for neatness or order. My hands stayed numb even though Zunnik's warmth seeped into them every time we touched.
Zunnik took the heavier items without a word—my backpack, sleeping bag, and tent—carrying them as though they weighed nothing at all. I clutched my notebook and flashlight close to my chest as we trudged through the snow toward his cave.
The journey became a blur of white and wind. I kept my head down and followed Zunnik’s broad back, trusting him to lead us through this nightmare. My mind felt numb with cold and fear; thoughts swirled like snowflakes caught in a gale—impossible to grasp.
His cave loomed before us—a dark maw against the white landscape—but it promised shelter and warmth. We entered an embrace of shadows that swallowed us whole.
The immediate transformation from howling death to hushed serenity left me reeling. Zunnik stoked the fire back to life while I stood there shivering uncontrollably, still clutching my meager possessions as if they could save me from this cold hell.
