Chapter 6: The Porch

I woke at three in the morning and the floor outside my door was empty.

I stood with the bolt in my hand for a full minute before I slid it back.

The front room was dark, and the stove had burned down to orange.

The cabin door stood open an inch, and cold air came in along the boards.

Bram was on the porch.

He sat on the top step in his shirtsleeves, with his back to me and frost already furring the rail beside him.

"You'll freeze," I said.

"I'm fine."

"You're an idiot. Come inside."

"You said outside your door." He didn't turn. "The front room smells like you. I couldn't hold still in there."

I didn't know what to do with that, so I ignored it.

I stepped out and sat down on the step beside him, with a careful foot of cold wood between us.

He had his left hand cupped in his lap.

Even in the dark I could see it was wrong.

The gauze had gone grey, and the skin around it was swollen tight and shiny.

"Give it here," I said.

"Lin."

"Give me your hand, Bram. I run the pack infirmary. I know what an infected cut looks like, and you've been walking around on that for two days."

He held it out.

I peeled the gauze back, and he made a low sound in his throat.

The cut ran across his palm from the base of his thumb to the heel of his hand.

It was red and hot, and thin red lines were creeping up the inside of his wrist.

I went in and got the kit from my bag, and a bowl, and the kettle.

When I came out, I sat down with his hand on my knee, in the light from the open door.