He crouched, grabbing a blanket off the floor and shaking it out. Stepping over to her, he wrapped it around Rua’s shoulders. Tilting his head to the fire he said, “Get warm.” The threadbare blanket grated against her raw skin. “Take your clothes off and come get warm with me or you will die. Now,” she commanded. She was not willing to let them both die from his false sense of modesty. His lips were still blue. His hands still shook, though they seemed more dexterous. He would fade into the cold by nightfall.
