The Ranger's Passionate Love

If I step into the light of the street, they'll see me and kill me for sure. But if I don't get out of this cold, I'm just as dead.

For a moment despair threatened to overwhelm her. Then she took another step forward, and another. Her body carried her on its own, fighting against the cold and the feeling of hopelessness in equal measure.

Sometime later, a minute or an eternity, she saw a familiar sign partially buried in the snow.

The Trail. If I can get to the old mill, I can hide and stay warm.

Desperately, Kyara pushed forward.

Keep your core warm, Kyara heard Jason's voice in her mind. “Your outside can freeze, but not your heart.”

Holding her arms close around her, Kyara rubbed at her chest as she pushed forward. Months of hiking this trail helped, but her feet still found every bump and twist, and she had to fight not to fall.

If you get soaked all over, you’ll never keep warm enough. Stay dry, stay warm, stay alive.

A gun shot shattered the night, followed by cursing. It sounded like the gunman, but it was so hard to tell in the snow and dark. Kyara looked back and saw her trail, painfully clear through the snow.

Stupid. Of course they can follow! No matter where I go, they can come right to me.

Even the heaviest snows have trouble getting below these older trees came Jason's voice in her mind once more. The needles can give you away, but you have to be a much more experienced tracker to pick up on that.

Kyara started peering through the darkness, looking for a place in the trail she could leap out.

The trail curves west. She focused on the left side of the trail.

Spying a looming shape off to the side, she made herself jump for it, hoping to leave a break in the trail as best as she could.

Her foot slipped, sending her sprawling in the snow. Shivering, she made herself stand and stumble between the drooping branches of an old pine. The tree cut the wind, and for a moment she sagged, wanting nothing more than to just lie down.

From behind her came more cursing. If he hadn't found the end of her tracks yet, he would soon.

Teeth chattering, Kyara stumbled to the other side of the tree. There she stared at a tangled knot of interwoven branches and brush.

Twist sideways as you enter, you can ease between the branches. When one starts to catch on you, you can pivot and move past it.

Hunching forward, Kyara slid her body into the underbrush.

Behind her, she heard her pursuer find the end of her trail and start thrashing around. She narrowed her focus to moving, getting as much space as she could between her and the thug.

Time and space narrowed to the next moment, the next step. Kyara couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything but keeping going. Staying in motion meant staying alive.

Suddenly there was no ground beneath her feet. Kyara slid down the slope, rolling through the thick, wet snow before coming to a painful stop. Opening her eyes, she stared up a huge, dark mass. It took her a moment to put together what it could be, to decide if it was an enemy. Then her fogging mind put it together. It was the mill. She had made it.

Crawling, her hands numb in the snow, Kyara made her way inside.

Finally having a wall between her and the night was almost enough to cause her to collapse on the entrance. She couldn't though. She remembered that, though she was having trouble remembering why. The world was starting to swim, and she was starting to feel warm all over again.

For my next surprise, came a voice, rich and masculine. It seemed to be guiding her, teasing her onward.

Kyara dragged herself to a corner, her numb hands fumbling at the latch of an old travel case. Inside rested an old, blue sleeping bag. Close to collapse, Kyara pulled herself inside, too tired to even take off her wet clothes.

If you get soaked all over, you’ll never keep warm enough. Stay dry, stay warm, stay alive.

Darkness took her.

Kyara floated in the dark, warm for the first time in what felt like forever. In time, a face formed in the darkness, followed by the rest of a body. It was a man, gray curls framing a light caramel face. The face was kind, eyes full of both wisdom and kindness. Her stood straight and tall, his brown suit falling in perfect, crisp lines.

“Papa?” asked Kyara.