He moved her to his small, narrow cot in the corner of the room. He piled every buffalo robe and quilt he owned on top of the mattress. Stripping down to his thermal undergarments to remove the cold dampness of his own clothes, Elias climbed into the bed beside her. He pulled the heavy furs over them both, enveloping them in a dark, confined space. He pulled her shivering body against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to transfer his core body heat. For hours, he lay awake, listening to the furious storm outside, praying that his warmth would be enough to pull the stranger back from the brink of death.
When Elias awoke, the shrieking wind had subsided into a low, mournful moan. The cabin was freezing, the fire having died down to mere embers. But beneath the heavy buffalo robes, it was sweltering.
He felt movement against his chest. He looked down to see dark, piercing eyes staring back at him. The woman was awake. Panic flared in her expression as she realized where she was and who was holding her. She scrambled backward, pushing against Elias and tangling herself in the heavy blankets. She tumbled out of the bed and hit the wooden floor, reaching instinctively for a knife that wasn't at her hip.
"Whoa, easy! Easy now," Elias said, raising his hands slowly and staying in the bed to show he meant no harm. "You're safe. You were freezing to death out there." She stared at him, her chest heaving. She didn't understand his English, but the universal language of his open, empty hands and calm tone seemed to register. She looked at the door, then at the frost coating the inside of the windows. The reality of the blizzard outside dawned on her.
"I'm Elias," he said, tapping his chest. She hesitated for a long moment, pulling the wool blanket tightly around her shoulders. Finally, she spoke, her voice raspy and dry. "Nita."
For the next three days, the storm kept them completely trapped inside the small cabin. It was an awkward coexistence at first. Nita was guarded, sitting in the corner by the fire, watching Elias's every move with the wariness of a hunted deer.
Elias kept his distance, offering her hot broth, dried venison, and fresh water. He noticed a deep, nasty gash on her left calf—likely from a jagged rock or a fall during her desperate trek through the mountains. He brought over a basin of warm water, clean rags, and a bottle of strong whiskey. He pointed to her leg, then to the water. Nita tensed, but slowly extended her leg. Elias cleaned the wound with gentle, practiced hands, pouring a splash of whiskey over the cut. Nita hissed in pain but didn't pull away.