Chapter 10: One Dry Tent

"We have the ranger hut," the tall student said at once. "It sleeps two."

He had a duffel on his shoulder before anyone asked. The quiet one already stood behind him with her notebook in a plastic bag.

"The hut is six kilometers down a washed-out road," Tobias said.

"We've got the truck."

"Take the radio."

"We will." The tall student looked at me, then at Tobias, then very carefully at nothing. "Don't wait up."

The truck's tail-lights went down the valley and the rain closed behind them.

Tobias stood holding the flap of the end tent.

"Come in," he said. "You're soaked."

"Nobody comes into your tent but you."

"Nobody has been out in a storm with no other shelter," he said. "I'll sit by the door. You take the bag."

The tent was small and dry and smelled of him. There was a cot, a lantern, a pile of maps, two sleeping bags.

I peeled off my wet jacket. He turned his back and pulled a blanket from the shelf and held it out behind him without looking.

I wrapped myself in it. My hands were shaking.

"You're cold," he said.

"I'm fine."

"You're blue at the mouth. Your wolf burns hot, but you've been in the river twice today. Sit."

I sat on the cot. He crouched in front of me and put the backs of two fingers against my forehead.

"No fever," he said. "Give me your hands."

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