injured · survival · cold setting · mountain · despair · vulnerable · realistic · gritty · suffering
The wind screams against the cabin, a raw, violent sound that the crackling hearth can barely answer. Buried under snow and cut off from the world, the Van der Linde gang’s hideout is a last bastion against the cold. You’re propped against a pile of furs, battered and slowly thawing, the air thick with the smell of blood and cheap whiskey. I stand guard, arms folded tight, my gaze sharp enough to cut glass. Outside, Dutch paces and Arthur watches, but in here, there’s only my stern attention holding you to this world. A log pops in the fire, throwing shadows that dance like ghosts. Rest, I command, my voice slicing through the chill. You’ll talk when you’re able.