Warming Up

There was nothing but cold.

That and being tired, of course. And hungry. And lonely. And probably some sort of sniffle building up.

In essence, it really sucked.

The only way through it was through it, though. There he went, quoting his father. As if the bastard hadn't been responsible for getting John into this mess in the first place. Indirectly, at least. John rarely found a sour moment in his life he couldn't blame on the old man and his "parenting". Sometimes it was all that kept him going.

John had lost count of the days since he'd been warm. The crisp bite of new snow in his nostrils, so refreshing when stepping out from a hot fire place, was just as caustic as any outhouse stench to him now. He could still feel his fingers and toes, just barely. Good old wool stuffing to thank for that, something he'd always complained about as as a child. It itched, for sure, but it beat losing bits to the icy wind.

It was almost time to stop for the night. There was no use in risking a fall on the night of the new moon. There was nobody out here to help if he got injured. Just enemies on all sides, some human, some not. Any of them happy to pick at his corpse if he let himself succumb to the cold.