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It’s warm inside, though the walls appear to be made of ice. Yet, every so often, a flurry of icy air rushes in from the sides of massive hanging furs, attached to the bone-thick ivory hooks above the circular entrance of the hut.
Zolf’s own fur coat- wet, bloodied and starting to faintly smell like burnt human hair- is still curled protectively on his shoulders and around his ribs, though at this point, it could be argued it’s doing more harm than good.
But Zolf is still. His eyes stare fixedly at the small fire burning at the centre of the hut, its flame dancing erratically in the green of his irises. Perhaps if he gazes into the fire long enough, the anxiety living at the pit of his stomach will be consumed and forgotten.
An hour must have passed already since Hamid, Cel and Azu followed their new half-eagle, half-men acquaintances into a shelter much larger than this one, Oscar’s limp shape nestled against the frigid metal of Azu’s armour and the other bodies being dragged behind on some kind of snow sledge. Zolf’s boots had halted in the snow just a few steps away from the opening, frozen in place, as if all his strength had suddenly seeped out of him. There were things in his life that only needed to be seen once: Feryn’s crushed and broken limbs; Sasha, lying chest open and organs not where they should be; and Wilde, the way he’d found him. If the ritual failed, then Zolf didn’t need to see it.
He feels a rush of wind sweep at the back of his neck, and before he can twist around, he hears two heavy boots tread their way inside.
Soon enough, Azu comes to stand across the fire, her weighty gaze settling on Zolf. Melted snow drips down from her boots onto the carpet, while the bright glow of her armour covers the parts of the wall not hidden by patterned tapestry in a soft, pink sheen.
Were Zolf a stranger, he might not guess that this orc had just been through more trauma than most people would endure in a lifetime. Her face, as always, is a picture of calmness and gentleness, a constant he is exceedingly grateful for. The world could end today, well, in a way, it has, and Azu’s kind smile would push them through whatever came next.
After an extended silence, Azu finally clears her throat and speaks up, “I’ve been looking for you. I was worried that you’d gone wandering into the cold.”
Zolf shakes his head. Their group didn’t need to lose one more person today.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to do the whole thing of disappearing and grieving in my corner again. It’s just...”
“You need a minute. I understand.” Azu looks around briefly, taking in the vast array of sown and carved ornaments hanging from the ceiling and adorning the walls, before turning back to Zolf. “Do you want me to leave?”
He shakes his head again. “No, uh, you’re fine. You can stay. If you want,” he says, and nods towards a decadent pile of covers and furs lying next to him.
Wordlessly, she skirts around the gently crackling fire, and grabs a generous handful of covers before dropping down to his side. For a minute or two, she busies herself with arranging a thick, wool-woven blanket, followed by another, over Zolf’s shoulders, who watches her fuss at him silently, before she finishes by draping an oversized purple quilt around herself.
Her eyes give him an appraising glance, as if ensuring that he is buried under a sufficient amount of layers.
Apparently satisfied with her work, she starts, “Zolf, about Wilde-”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he interrupts, his hands tugging at the spots where the fabric enfolding him feels just a bit too constricting, careful to avoid Azu’s disapproving expression. Not now. He’s not ready to hear it yet. “I just- I,” he pauses, releases a shaky sigh, then wills his voice not to break as he tries again, “Just not right now, Azu. I know we need to talk, hell, all of us need to talk and acknowledge what’s happened if we don’t want to break further down the line. But not right now.”
The fire emits a sharp crack as one of the logs gets swallowed into the burning coals, its fall releasing glowing red sparks of ember. Zolf jumps on the brief distraction to extricate himself further from his cocoon of blankets before Azu has a chance to turn back to him.
When she does, her eyes narrow imperceptibly, while he tries his best to appear natural, his face remaining carefully neutral. There’s a beat of silence, through which he realises Azu is simply too worn-out to insist.
“I agree with everything you said, Zolf. We should wait a bit until the dust settles before trying to process this together.” Slowly, she lifts her hand to enclose Zolf’s shoulder and squeeze it softly. “And until then, we can all try to recover from this the way we think we need to.”
Zolf lifts a pair of eyebrows at her. “And for you that’s by helping others so you don’t have to deal with your own feelings?”
His remark seems to hit the bull’s eye, as Azu’s entire body visibly stills for a second. A wave of guilt immediately sweeps through him; she didn’t deserve that.
“Ah. Yes, uhm... I suppose you’re not wrong,” she stammers back, removing her hand from Zolf’s shoulder, though not before rearranging the covers to properly wrap around him once more.
This time, Zolf makes no move to loosen their hold. “It’s fine. Like you said, we all gotta deal with it our own way right now.”
“Right, uhmm, actually while I’m glad we’re talking about this, it’s not the reason I came here. Wilde’s resurrection-” Zolf feels his heart constrict painfully at the sound of his name.
“It’s okay, Azu. I know. It was a long shot among long shots. And maybe, maybe it’s better that way. I don’t know, he- he didn’t tell me everything.” The way he rubbed at the cold metal of his shackles before sliding under the covers, the looks that passed over his features when they talked of beating the odds- there was so much he kept to himself. So much that Zolf wishes he could have known. “But, we all know he was exhausted, and tired, and now, he finally gets to rest. Even if he was starting to perk up a bit those past...” his voice fades into silence, words refusing to push past the knot in his throat.
He peers back into the fire, forcing himself to focus on the way the flames lick hungrily at the wood instead of the insistent prickling at the corners of his eyes.
“Zolf, it worked. He’s alive.”
In the seconds that follow, Zolf forgets how to breathe. Hesitantly, he shifts his eyes back on Azu and asks simply, “He’s conscious?”
She nods. “Yes. And talking,” she adds with an amused smile. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I saw you, but you wouldn’t let me.”
With an unceremonious shake of his shoulders, Zolf sheds off his layers in a fraction of the time it took Azu to arrange them, and pushes himself up to his feet, feverish beads of sweat rolling down his temples. Before he’s even fully conscious of it, he’s striding towards the exit.
“He asked for you.”
Zolf spins back towards the inside the hut, feeling strangely unmoored and unreal. “Azu. What I said about...” He gives her a meaningful glance. “Don’t tell him.”
Azu nods; Zolf doesn’t need to explain. She can probably read him a thousand times better than if the situation were reversed. “Of course not. It stays between you and me,” she assures him.
“Thank you,” he says, hoping these two words are enough to convey the countless utterings of gratitude he owes her.
Her answer follows a graceful smile. “No, thank you. You’re the one that led us this far.”
All I'm doing is leading us to our deaths, he thinks in response, but keeps it to himself and shoves the furs aside to step into the piercing cold. Oscar is waiting for him.