Rot ━ Mal Oretsev ✓

𝟬𝟭𝟳 1 step forward, 3 steps back

Winter is approaching, fast.

Snow is beginning to overtake the grounds wherever they walk, icicles hanging from every upper structure that they can cling to. Thalia recognises the tell-tale signs of Winter approaching before the cold comes, signalled by the widows starting to board up their windows with cardboard and the fathers of big families stocking up on sustainable food and coal for the glacial months.

Frost coats her clothing, snowflakes becoming somewhat of a second skin over the tattered First Army uniform that she had taken from the short supply. In all honesty, Thalia doesn't remember what it felt like to not have a constant ache in her face. Her joints are swiftly becoming stiff, as if freezing over with the tide.

She was not made for these conditions, but here she was anyway, in them willingly.

If it hadn't been for Mal, it is likely that Thalia wouldn't have considered this mission for even a second. Never mind the fact she had to resort to dirty tactics in order to get permission to join them. Isn't something she's particularly proud of, but you've gotta do what you've gotta do, right?

   "We've got to hurry up if we want to make it there before sundown," said Mal, his words accompanied by the chittering of his teeth. "We'll make camp there tonight, then we'll start again tomorrow."

It's been like this for a week. Travelling through slow laden towns, over mountains, back into towns and into mountains again. Tonight, Mikhael and Dubrov were taking up the task of travelling into the small city centre to replenish their supplies. As of right now, it's just Thalia and Mal. They'll set up camp and make a fire that will allow Mikhael and Dubrov to locate them in the forest.

   "Got it, boss," she tells him, giving a mock salute.

They continue their travel, Thalia's boots leaving heavy imprints on the show. She's had to give up the habit of walking on her toes, because you can't risk that on snowy hilltops. One wrong step will send you plummeting to death. Of course, that's only if hypothermia doesn't take you for its own first.

An obstacle comes in the form of a steep hill, and Thalia huffs instinctively upon setting her eyes on it. What is it with the never ending hills? Mal seems to be having the same line of thought, and releases a huff of his own before clamping his hands on two rocks at either side and heaving himself up.

Thalia is still planted firmly on the ground, staring at the hill with a doubtful eye. Mal sighs, leaning down slightly and extending his palm, "Give me your hand."

Well, Thalia isn't going to say no to that. She allows him to clasp her hand in his, pressing a foot to the hill and pushing herself upward. At last, she is on the hill beside him, his hand still held in her own. She chokes out a breath, looking down to the ground below.

   "Saints, why is this so—"

   She loses her footing.

But Mal is quick, his other hand shooting out to press behind her back and steady her position. They are pressed chest to chest, Thalia's mouth hung open in what might've been a scream had he not caught her.

Mal stares at her, his eyes wide, "Are you all right?"

"No." But she laughs anyway. Another near death experience, and all Thalia can bring herself to do is laugh.

"Come on, we'd better get go set up camp before Mikhael makes a joke about us slow dancing on the edge of death."

She gave a short nod, following after him silently. Their hands had not separated entirely, her fingertips barely clinging to his own, but it was rather nice. It wasn't as if they had all that much privacy with Mikhael and Dubrov being here, and every time that Mal or Thalia so much as sat within a foot of each other they cackled and made jokes.