Clay gaped, opening and shutting his mouth wordlessly. He stared at the place where Juniper had knelt, the wind and his gasping breath the only sound. The space was now a blur of white -- she was gone, beneath the waves. His shock was partnered only with his dismay. He hated Juniper, how she looked at him, and how she flicked her tail in annoyance whenever he called her Junie. He hated the gentle slope of her muscular shoulders, the formality of the way she called him "Mr. Breton," the way she would never see him as more than a spoiled rich schoolboy. And yet -- yet he felt devastated that she was gone so quickly. It didn't matter to him that her death was not honorable -- that was what he told himself -- but he could not shake the sight of her haunted face as she slipped beneath the waves.
He had seen her face enraged many times. He'd seen her face determined, set like stone. He'd seen her puzzled, as she tried to decipher traps he'd set for her. He had even seen her laugh -- only once, in all these years -- at something a young dwarvish girl had said to her in a marketplace. But never had he seen the look of defeat, until now. It left him hollow.
Next, he saw her thrashing in the water. His breath came into his lungs in a jagged, icy slash through his chest. Agony -- that was the feeling he was experiencing. He could have stabbed Juniper, he told himself, or slashed her throat -- but to watch her drown?
No, he could not do it. He crawled forward on the ice as the logging foreman had instructed them on their first day. He shouted to her:
"Juniper. Juniper! Stop struggling!"
He knew she was in mortal peril when she listened to him. He blanched as he crawled on his belly, just a foot at a time, towards her, to see that her entire body had turned a sickly beige. Gone was the rich, crimson hue that he'd come to recognize from a mile away. She was Salamandrine, after all -- she would freeze to death long before she'd have a chance to drown.
"Give me your hand. I can pull you out." he shouted, his voice shaky.
She hesitated.
"Juniper! I can kill you later!" he shouted, his voice surprisingly strong. "Give me your hand!" And she did. He was able to quickly gauge that while the ice was shattered, the side of the hole that was behind her was the weakest part of the ice. It made sense -- he hadn't been sucked down when he got his crossbow -- but it meant they were going to have to be careful. The weakest ice was now essentially blocking their way back the way they'd come. They would have to find a different way back to the shore.
"Slow," he said, gritting his teeth, feeling her hands shake through her gloves. "Use your clothes as a cushion. Lean on them there. Good. Slide towards me. Little bit at a time. When we get you out I know you'll want to stand up -- but you can't yet -- you could break the ice again."
"I won't stand up. I don't... I don't think I can."
His eyes flicked to hers and he realized for the first time that even if he got her out of the icy waves, she could still freeze to death. He forced the bile of panic back into his gut and pulled her with more force. The pain of the stinging cold was coupled only in intensity by a horrible, creeping numbness in his mind at the thought of failure.
It was slow going. The ice was slick, and though she was muscular, the icy water had sapped all of the strength out of her body-- he suspected doubly so because she was Salamandrine. Her teeth weren't even chattering -- her jaw looked as though it was clenched permanently shut.
"Okay kick... kick... kick... good, now slide towards me... that's alright, try again... kick... one more time, kick... there we go." He was able to tug her towards him, sliding her across the ice and then shimmying backward, pulling her closer to him, and away from danger. Ironic, he thought -- this whole time, the closer she was, the more danger he was in -- and now? He was saving her. Why was he saving her...? No time to think about that.
"We have to keep moving," he said. He half-crawled, half slid across the floe, spotting another that looked enormous, and much thicker. "If we can make it to that one, we can make it back to the caves," he said.
"Caves?" she echoed. He looked back at her to see she was a few feet behind. She was barely inching forward. Gone was the look of defeat with her eyes, but it was replaced with something much worse: mortal fear. She still believed she was going to die.
"Yes. Not the hot springs -- other caves. Used by the locals for rituals and holidays. We can make it."
She looked at him again and blinked rapidly, her eyes in and out of focus.
"We can make it," he shouted, and grabbed the shoulder of her uniform, tugging her forward. He repeated those four words countless times over the next treacherous hour or so -- it felt much longer. He forced himself to breathe evenly, especially when the wind picked up. They slid from the narrow ice floe to the much sturdier one, and from there it was less about risk and more about stamina. The air was wickedly cold, and a few times Clay found himself nearing numbness in his hands. He forced himself forward, finally able to crawl when he trusted the ice, dragging Juniper into a crawl as well, and then finally standing.
She tried and failed twice to stand, before he demanded that she lean on him as they walked. She looked mortified.
"You can lean on me or I can carry you," he snapped. He was relieved when she chose to lean on him. Although he would have easily carried her, he knew it was better if she kept her extremities moving, however slow a pace.
They made it to the shore, and then up a set of painfully steep steps to the ritualistic temple caves. Unlike the dwarvish baths, these were unremarkable at the entrance. If not for the steps, which led to a narrow opening in the rock, it would be easily missed. Clay forced Juniper through the entrance first, and then squeezed in after her. He saw the appeal of the space immediately: the entrance was a zigzagging back and forth, which would make it impossible for any creature too large or too dumb to get inside.
Despite this clever entryway, however, there were more bonuses: once inside, there was a large ceremonial firepit, and dry kindling and logs stacked against the wall.
There was some sort of altar against the wall, but Clay didn't pay it much mind -- what gave him the most joy -- an almost unbearable amount of joy -- was that there were stacks and stacks of colorful, loosely woven mats... which he could use as blankets to get Juniper's internal body temperature back up.
The cave was not particularly warm, but they were out of the wind, and as he looked up he saw a few clever ventilation shafts. He made a mental note to profusely thank the local monks, witches, or mages who had set up this cave.
Juniper curled up on the ground, her tail noticeably silent on the stone floor.
"Juniper. Juniper, you need to undress," he said, growing worried again, shaking her shoulder gently. She looked at him, but her gaze wasn't scandalized or scalding -- it was bleary, unseeing, vacant. The sickly tone of her skin had only grown paler -- he knew she was still not out of danger.
"What?" she finally asked.
"You need to take your clothes off," he said again, "I will start a fire, but you need to get yourself out of these clothes. Where is my firestarter?" with a series of increasingly colorful curses on his breath, he re-ignited the fire that was in the hearth with flint from his pack. He made sure there were a few blankets that would be nearer to the fire to warm them. Then he rushed back to Juniper. He was half-way out of his own wet, half-frozen clothing and back to her side before he realized she was speaking very quietly -- another few moments and he realized she wasn't speaking at all, but laughing -- a half-wheezing, half-gasping laugh that barely made it past her lips.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
She shook her head as he helped her unbutton the front of her outermost coat, and then slide it off of her shoulders. He tossed it aside; the thick, absorbent fabric was soaked through and three times its normal weight because of the water.
"You gotta talk while I do this so that I know you're not about to die," he said, "So you might as well tell me what's so funny."
"You said firestarter," she wheezed, half-lifting her head to look at him through heavily lidded eyes, before her head flopped back again.
"Yes, I did," he said, seeing to his relief that the inside jacket was also buttoned closed, and he wouldn't have to pull it off over her head. He didn't know if she'd pulled any muscles in the strike against the ice, but if she had, it would have been her shoulders -- if he could avoid adding strain to those muscles, he would. "Would you mind telling me why that's so funny?"
"It means something different to my people," she wheezed as he quickly worked to unbutton the jacket with fingers that were just beginning to regain their full sensation.
Finally the last one was unbuttoned, and she was able to shrug off the garment. He realized then that it was a sort of undergarment for her whole body, and he scowled as he tugged it down along her muscular thighs.
"Oh. Right," he said, yanking off her long socks and throwing them onto the stone to dry. "Means the poison that you can sweat out, right?"
"Poison, yes... or lubricant." with the last word she managed to find some strength or inner rage, yanking off the final layer to reveal her naked body. She was left only in a pair of panties, black and simple, with two simple knots on each hip bone. "You asked, as I always knew you would, why my body did not create the poisonous firestarter to kill you."
"Yes..." he got up carefully and shimmied out of his own trousers and underwear, kicking off his socks and getting the now-warm blankets from beside the fire. They were a bit dusty, presumably from sitting in this temple for months, but incredibly warm and cozy. He brought the blankets, and his canteen, back to Juniper.
