Fornfrost

Arrival

An overpowering blizzard raged through the small village, when no man, woman or child dared to set foot out of shelter or warmth. A stranger, cold and brittle struggled with each step, trudging towards the village. His beard half frozen with fingers of ice growing from it, his hands almost purple from the cold and his face a warm red. With each heaving step his grunts and breathing were audible to the villagers, yet they made no effort to help, but only to watch in silence. It was a backwater village off the beaten path, where only the residents knew the way, and the village had a small history of attracting some of the less friendly strangers. He struggled and struggled until his steps slowed, and for a moment he stood in the snow which was almost knee high at this point, and tilted his head up to where the sky should have been, instead the furious winds and snow filled the air, before falling back into the snow. He lay in the snow for a few moments, the snow surrounding him was reddening, stained with blood, and his body and head almost covered with snow already. A man watching from inside his hut grew weary of watching the stranger's slow death, so he grunted and swung his door open, rope in hand he made his way to the stranger. Pulled him from the snow and wrapped the rope beneath his arms and grabbed the ends tight. The rest of the villagers looked on in a mix of fear and curiosity from the warmth of their houses as the stranger was being dragged towards his hut. The door opened to a young girl as she watched filled with interest at the stranger. Reaching the door, he hugged the stranger from behind and lifted him into the hut, quickly dragging him over by the fireplace and laying him down gently onto the wooden floor. Where he tore off the stranger's overcoat.

"Millie, knife." He said to the girl as she closed the door behind them.

She grabbed a knife off a nearby bench and passed it to him. He carefully pinched the stranger's shirt and inserted the knife, slicing down and ripping open the shirt, revealing a deep puncture wound heavily bleeding.

"Cloth." He stated with his hand out.

The girl found a cloth on the bench and passed it to him.

"A clean cloth." He asserted.

She moved to the back of the hut and fumbled around before finding a clean cloth and handed it to him. He applied the cloth to the stranger's wound, holding it down.

"The bucket of water over there," he nodded his head towards a bucket in the corner of the room. "Don't forget to break the ice on top."

She picked up a small pick and broke a thin layer of ice covering the water, and in a strained effort, lifted the bucket and dropped it beside the man. He cleaned the cloth in the bucket and soaked it in the water. Twisting the cloth over the wind, rinsing the fresh water over his wound.

"Vodka and a new clean cloth." He stated.

She moved across the room to fetch another clean cloth and went over by a crate and lifted a glass bottle from it. 

"Good, now open the bottle and pour only a small amount around and over the wound." He said.

She opened the bottle with a slight struggle, and carefully poured the alcohol over the wound, concentrating heavily until he said grunted. He chucked the used cloth into the bucket and wrapped the clean one over the wound several folds before tying it into a knot.

"Hold his legs." He moved around to the stranger's head and gripped him by the shoulder, while Millie moved to his feet and gripped him by the ankles.

"One... two... three." They lifted him onto the bed further back and rested him down. The man peeled his many layers of coats and clothing off before slumping into a chair by the fire.

The girl was curiously gawking at the stranger and asked, "Where will you sleep father?"

He turned to her and said, "Right here." he turned back to the fire. "Come, child. Sit by the fire."

So the two sat by the fire into the night.