By late afternoon, the biting chill of the high peaks had driven the little family inside the cabin. Finnegan had built the fire in the Great Hearth into a roaring blaze, the crackling pine casting long, dancing shadows against the heavy timber walls. He had arranged a sprawling nest of thick pelts and quilts on the floor—close enough to soak in the radiant heat, but far enough back to be safe from the popping embers.
Leela was improving. It was agonizingly slow progress, but to Finnegan, every minuscule movement was a triumph. For the first time in fourteen days, she initiated a motion entirely on her own. With a soft, gravelly groan, she engaged her trembling core and managed to roll onto her side to face him. The sheer effort left her breathless, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on h
