Caves were not all Lachlan thought they would be. Drier than the outside but just as cold, they provided little comfort for his numb hands and chattering teeth. At this rate, they'd be dead before the morning came.

Work was easier than conversation, so he worked dutifully to get the fire started alongside her, stacking what twigs he could find scattered around the cave in the small pile they'd managed. He handed her a rock; it was no flint, but maybe she knew better than him how to get a fire started out of practically nothing. MacFusty survival skills were perfect for braving the summer climate against three toddling dragons, but not against subzero temperatures.

It was impossible to say how much time it took, because physical work often brought a sweat to his brow and there was no sweat to be had in temperatures like this. He'd wandered the perimeter of the cave at least ten times before he gave up and settled down near a rock while she worked on starting the physical fire. What were the odds of him falling asleep?

"There's no way we're going to manage to rest like this," he said quietly, trying to wiggle his toes to make sure they were still there. Everything was too cold, far too cold. A bare palm brushed against the floor and he recoiled; it seemed the cold could burn worse than fire.

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