Winters Woe

Chapter 2

Worrying Words

and Visual Pleasures

[Bjarke]

I had just gotten back from getting some firewood when I noticed that the guy I picked up was awake. He looked alert, but equally confused. I could tell that he had questions--so did I, but I couldn't imagine he would be up for holding a conversation yet. While his body did still look rather beaten ... well no, that's was it, there was nothing to add. His body was in awful shape.

There were a few days where I was sure he wasn't making it, and yet he kept pulling through. His condition stabilized around the fourth day--two days ago--and he's been healing steadily since. Whoever he is, he's damn tough.

"How do you feel?" I asked, as I took off my winter gear.

He attempted to sit up fully and winced. "Better, but it all still hurts like hell."

"And it's going to keep hurting. Your recovery will take a while."

Once I finished taking off my snowsuit I walked over to the kitchen and prepped a bowl of porridge. My wounded visitor carefully grabbed it with trembling hands. A heavy burst of emotion would flash onto his face after every spoonful; it seemed he was savoring each bite. While he ate, I prepped the wood I had gotten earlier and threw it into the fire. The flames welcomed the bountiful meal, and it gave off warmth as thanks. I pulled up a wicker chair and plopped myself down into it.

Since the moment I brought in this wounded man, I've stayed as close to him as possible. It had been about a week since I slept in my bed. I guess I was just too afraid to leave him alone ... afraid that I would wake up one morning to find him cold and lifeless.

Not that long ago I was coming up on my eleventh year away from civilization--and now? Now I was nursing a stranger back to health. Total one-eighty.

"What's your name?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

"Derrick," He replied. "What about you?"

"Bjarke."

His face scrunched up as if he was having trouble processing something in that head of his. "Bjarke? Really?" There was mockery in his voice.

"I didn't choose it," I said defensively. "My parents wanted me to have an exotic name, and they just happened to choose Bjarke." I made a silly face to physically convey how I felt.

Derrick snorted and accidentally sucked down a spoonful of porridge in the process. He went into a coughing fit, and behind each cough was a painful gasp.

It was roughly midnight by this point so my eyes were beginning to droop. The crackling of firewood and the windiness of the outside provided me with nature's music. It was putting me to sleep, and fast.

I kept glancing over to Derrick every now and then. He seemed content with everything. In the beginning, without even knowing him, and having only his looks to go off of, I figured he'd be a truculent individual. He had a defiant air about him. But I was starting to think I was wrong in assuming that.

On one of my glances, I noticed his hair. It was red, and the fire's glow only heightened its sheen. It was cut short, but what was there was thick; so thick in fact that it looked heavy. Not sure why I never noticed it earlier.

While washing the dishes Derrick conked out, looking peaceful. He didn't seem to be in danger of suddenly dying on me anymore, so I took it as a job well done by me and climbed the stairs to the loft. At the top was my big bed and I couldn't wait to throw my body into its embrace. I snuggled up under the furry covers and allowed myself to fall asleep. It was a good rest and, possibly due to my recent good deeds, was some of the best sleep I had ever gotten.

I always woke up early. My sleep usually averaged about five, maybe six hours. The wind outside had stopped, but still the cabin was a little chilly. I took myself downstairs and refueled the fireplace. Derrick was asleep, clutching the fox-fur blanket like his life depended on it ... which it kind of did. I could see him physically relax when the fire's warmth reached him. Despite his rugged appearance he looked tranquil in this moment, as if this was a comfort he hadn't felt in a long while--which I couldn't imagine to be the case.

I failed to come up with any scenario that would fit the condition he was in when I found him. If a wild predator had attacked, he would have been in even worse condition--and anyway, his wounds weren't claw or teeth related. Granted, I wasn't sure how to explain the knife that was lodged in his shoulder. Removing it took me hours as I did my best not to do more damage taking it out than it had done going in. I'm not a doctor by any means, but I think I did a serviceable job.

Speaking of knives, I found one on his person--though I doubt you can call it a knife ... more like a mini sword. And in addition to the knife, I also found an empty pistol.

Maybe he was a soldier for the U.S. Military? Got ambushed by the enemy or something? It would explain his wounds and gear, but why would U.S. soldiers be out operating in the deepest part of the Alaskan woods? I guess I could just ask him--not like he has any right to withhold information from me. I did save his life and all. Although, wouldn't that be taking advantage of him? That would be rude of me. If he does work for the government though that could pose a problem. What if he starts asking questions about me ... why I live out here all alone and such? Would he turn me in? I'd think not. Again, I did save his life. He'd have to feel indebted to me... right?

Being wrapped in the snow-white blanket made the blood that had soaked through the bandages pop, stealing my gaze. "Hey," I said in a gentle voice as I tried to wake him. He was deep asleep, but a few nudges got his eyes to open, albeit reluctantly. "I need to change the dressings on your wounds."

Without a word he groggily opened his body up to me, revealing the naked form underneath the fox-fur. I did my best not to ogle as I changed his dressings. The body of the guy lying in front of me was trained and hardened. He was wide, chiseled, with hair sparsely strewn about. The hair was also red, confirming that he was a natural ginger.

While changing the wrapping at Derrick's stomach, I found myself fighting the curious desire my eyes had to look below his waist. The urge to sneak a peek at what hung between his thighs was steadily growing ... and while it would have been an innocuous act, I refused to give in purely out of respect. Not sure why I didn't already know what it looked like though. I guess I just must have been so focused on making sure he didn't die earlier in the week that I hadn't noticed little details like hair color or endowment.

Carefully removing and applying bandages took time, keeping me awfully close to him. Before, I had done this while he was mostly out of it. That made doing it while he was awake all the more awkward.

The process took a hot minute, and Derrick stood still the entire time. I figured it would have been a somewhat painful process, only he showed no signs of discomfort. Maybe pain was something he was used to.

The instant I finished he covered back up with the blanket and tried going back to sleep. "Wait, you should eat something first." I quickly suggested. Stink eye was shot at me, as if telling me to go away. "I know you're tired, but you really should eat someth-" Normally, getting interrupted would be annoying, but not when it's by a perfectly timed stomach growl. I couldn't hold back a shit-eating grin, and its presence on my face visibly pissed Derrick off.

"...Fine." He spoke quietly, quickly, and stubbornly.

The only thing I could make him was more porridge, but this time sweetened with some ground, dried berries. Derrick took the meal with both hands. One spoonful later I saw his eyebrows raise a little; the sweetener had most certainly been a good call. I proceeded to make myself some porridge as well and we ate together. It was a peaceful moment.

Once our bellies were full--and our bowls empty--I did the dishes. Derrick had gone back to sleep by the time I finished.

Before leaving to do some chores, I went to the freezer in the back room and took out some venison steaks for tonight's dinner. Having a temporary second mouth to feed would be a problem, but one I was sure I could work around.

Today's temperature wasn't as grueling as yesterdays, making the work to be done easier. First thing was wood. Having to keep the fireplace at full mast for all hours of the day had run my supply drained. It did keep Derrick alive, but now I needed to refill my stock. Many swings of an axe are what it took to compile a mighty fine mound of wood. It did take a good chunk of daylight to complete, but the less trips I had to make outside to cut wood the better.

After refilling the wood rack inside the house--and leaving a few logs in the basket next to the fireplace--I headed towards the watershed. The shed was where my water collection system was located. It took in rain and snow, processed it, and allowed for some nice drinking water. Refilling the water jugs under the kitchen sink took me a few trips to complete, and once done left my wrists sore. Also inside the watershed was a shower I had constructed; it ran on its own system of pipes. The way I had organized them wasn't pretty, but it functioned as intended.

On my way back to the cabin I noticed how sweaty I was. The smell of my pits recommended a shower, but I wanted to check up on Derrick ... it had been a while. "I'll make it a quick one." I thought to myself.

Button by button cloths fell onto the floor unveiling my skin to the shed's cold interior. The rattle of opening pipes gave warning to falling droplets of water ... each droplet echoing inside the enclosed space. I introduced myself to the water limb by limb. Cold as it was, I still relished the feeling of getting cleaned. Without any access to soap, I learned to use sand as an exfoliant. I did not in any way miss civilization; however, I did miss soap. Sand was not a bad replacement as it did accomplish the task of getting me clean, but the lingering smells of my lemon scented body wash were dearly missed. Getting out of a shower smelling like nothing never ceased to feel blatantly incorrect.

During the rinse-off period my right hand tugged on my dick and balls, thoroughly rinsing them off. Sensitive as I was, any chance of getting an erection was thwarted by the water's suppressive chill. Even if I could have gotten hard, there was no pleasure to be found in a freezing cold shower.

As I was toweling myself off, I looked out the only window in the shed. The sky acted as an informant, showing that daylight was running low. Even while surrounded by the shed's insulated walls could the creeping cold be felt. I picked up my pace.

Inside the cabin was an encapsulating warmth--the cozy presence held up by the logs that I left in the wood basket for Derrick to use as he saw fit. He needed the warmth, and I was happy to be entering an already heated space. Derrick was upright, awake, staring endlessly into the fire surrounded by gray stone. The way waves of flame outlined him made him look fleeting ... like a trapped spirit, unable to move on.

My belly spoke, informing me of its emptiness--and if I was hungry, Derrick had to be as well. "I'm going to start dinner."

Derrick turned to face me. "What're you making?"

"Venison Steaks." The reaction I got told me all I needed to know. This was no doubt his first-time eating venison. "They should be unthawed by now." I walked over to the kitchen sink where I had left them, and indeed they were ready for cooking.

A long metal sheet--of which had many holes throughout it--was placed atop the flames below the chimney. The sheet was held up by a stone plateau, giving me room to work the steaks. Each slab sizzled, instantly giving off a salivating aroma... at least to me. Derrick did not look as convinced.

"How are you feeling today?" I asked as I tended to the steaks.

"...Better?" He didn't seem confident in his answer.

We both sat silent for a moment while roaring flames prepped the meat. It most definitely would have been awkward just sitting there--only, I happen to be someone who becomes enamored when making food. My surroundings had melted away, the steaks in front of me now being the owner of my full attention.

"You allergic to garlic?"

"No." Replied Derrick.

That was good news as I began seasoning the steaks with homemade garlic salt. Derrick and I both reacted to the invading chemical reaction from the garlic. I had put too much, and the way the smells took over our senses was evidence enough. Not wanting the steaks to be ruined I quickly brushed off some excess. Tiny slivers of yellowish specs fell into the holes all around the metal sheet, sizzling as they landed into the fire below.

When our meal was cooked and ready both cuts of meat were placed onto a plate and served. A fork in my left hand held the steak in place, while the knife in my right sliced off pieces--edible in size. Moans and groans erupted from within as each bite sent signals of pleasure through my body. There was something about venison ... about the wild tang, that made it my preferred type of meat. I became so caught up in the many layers of flavors that Derrick's struggling--happening right across from me--went completely unnoticed for some time. The motion of cutting his steak proved difficult for him to perform.

In a frustrated huff he slammed down his knife and, with his fork, lifted the entire steak up to his face, sinking his teeth in like a wild animal. "Would you like me to cut your-"

Before I could finish offering assistance he quickly swallowed a chunk of meat, racing to speak ahead of me. "No thanks, I'm good!" His tone was aggressive, but also desperate.

My utensils hit the plate on my lap with a resounding clink. I scooted next to Derrick, took the abandoned knife, and slid a hand up his, removing the fork from his clutch. This man was no doubt a very independent person, which I understood made the prospect of me cutting up his steak--as a mother would for her child--all the more embarrassing. His breath, which was hot, would occasionally land on my arm. Impatience oozed off him, rushing me to finish. Our shoulders kept brushing against each other making us both anxious; the collar of my shirt rapidly getting stuffy.

When I finished, I moved back to my food and resumed eating. Derrick did not extend appreciation, surprising me very little. He had his pride and I respected that.

Venison has always been a wild meat to me. Depending on how it's processed, some say it has a sour tang similar to how most meat tastes when it goes bad--I would agree. That is what made it so much fun to watch Derrick eat. One moment he would be chewing away with gusto, and the next his cheeks would scrunch up as if he had just packed his mouth with sour candy. I wanted not to laugh--and fight it I did, but a few wheezed exudes of breath escaped me. "Would you like some dipping sauce?" The answer was an immediate nod.

"What's this?" Suspicion clouded his eyes as he scanned the dark substance I brought out for him.

"Blackberry Sauce," I answered. "It goes really well with venison. Should help with the gaminess."

There was much hesitation before he finally dipped a piece and placed it inside his mouth. "...wow. That made a-"

"Difference? Yeah, I know."

"What is it, just crushed up blackberries?"

"No. It's usually blackberries mixed with: garlic powder, brown sugar, and red wine vinegar. I've no access to those last two, so I played around and found some good alternatives." Derrick listened attentively.

Us conversing didn't end, and we ended up talking for the rest of our meal. "I don't have much in the way of dessert but, if you want, I could get a bowl of cloudberries. They're great dipped in maple syrup."

Derrick looked skeptical. "Sure, why not."

After procuring the goods I sat down a bowl of cloudberries and a smaller bowl of maple syrup on the side. We sat in front of the fireplace--our dessert situated between us--and continued sharing words. What we talked about was mostly trivial stuff; subjects that neither of us would feel alienated by. Yet eventually we ran out of things to talk about, opting for an amicable silence.

Fire, cold, lingering smells of venison and sweat--it all lingered about, floating around us. Derrick had the fur blanket wrapped around his waist, covering his nether regions. This however left his upper body exposed. The wrappings around his wounds looked clean, and his skin had returned to a natural pale shade. The corners of my mouth bent slightly as I was happy to see him getting better.

"You know, you can just ask if you want," My heart sped up. "About what happened to me."

The forwardness took me aback, but I couldn't deny that I was curious. "O-okay then, what got you to where you are now?"

"Lets see ... so I was tracking this hit and-"

"Hit?" I asked.

"Someone that I'm paid to kill." My body stiffened upon hearing that. He had to be joking, right? "Anyway, I tracked the guy here, but he ran. So I chased him for a while, found him, got the shit kicked out of me by not just him, but also the damn wilderness, and then woke up in your cabin. That about sums it up." The carefree attitude in his voice was a stark contrast from the contents of his explanation.

"So ... so, you're like an assassin?"

"Not like ... I am an assassin," He spoke firmly. "Or you could call me a hitman. Whatever floats your boat.

I didn't want to be silent afterwards--didn't want him to get the wrong idea, but finding words to follow-up on everything he just said was hard. Him being an assassin didn't bother me in-of-itself... oddly enough. What did bother me were all the current unknowns. Was I even safe?

"I appreciate your... truthfulness."

"What's with the attitude? Cut it out."

"I'm just surprised you were so forward about it." I took a deep breath. "I have to ask... why even tell me? I had already come up with the idea that you were military or something, so why not try lying? Why risk me getting scared and kicking you out?" I honestly wanted to know.

"Hah!" My entire body jumped, jolted by his lively laugh. "I actually thought about saying I was military, but then I realized how flimsy that lie was." He yawned, then scratched at his junk. "Other options were to either not tell you, or just simply come clean." He let out a long sigh, rubbed the ridge of his nose, and casually slumped over. "...And anyway, if you had tried throwing me out, I woulda just killed you and taken your cabin."

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to laugh or stay silent.

I chose silence.

"I'm just messin with ya!" Said Derrick, while playfully slapping my arm. "Damn, I better stop joking if you're gonna take everything seriously."

A tightness constricted my chest making it hard to breathe. I did manage to laugh, albeit not convincingly so. There was definitely a little truth underneath the joke.

"...You're not-"

"I'm not gonna kill you." He assured me with a smirk.

"Okay... good." I believed him... I think.

Derrick's fingers sank into the bowl of cloudberries and a handful was shoved into his mouth. Emanating from his lips were the juicy sounds of crushed berries. A little bit of saliva slid past and down his mouth, collecting at his chin, before dripping onto the fox-fur blanket. His right index finger swiped at the mess, collecting the escaped saliva, and a lump got caught in my throat when he sucked on that sticky finger. There was a resounding pop after he removed the digit from his mouth. My eyes kept stealing glances over and over, watching as he thoughtfully swallowed the lump of berries that were still floating around just past his lips. His hand went in for more--this time grabbing only one, and he proceeded to dip it in the syrup. After every berry he would lick his syrupy finger clean, and after each cleaning my face got hotter.