I chew on my nails as I look outside, hating that the guards and horses have to endure this. The hail must be punishing and painful every time it lands.
Luckily, I see us diverting off the path, heading for a copse of trees in the distance. They’re not the giant Pitching Pines, but they’re enough to offer us some cover from the storm, thank Divine.
But if I thought we were slow-moving before, it’s ten times worse now. With the hail and the wind battering us, it takes us nearly an hour to reach the line of trees.
The leaders of our group are just crossing beneath the first of the trees when my carriage is jolted. With a lurch, I’m flung onto the floor, my body hitting the opposite seat and the back of my head slamming against the wall.
“Shit,” I curse, rubbing the back of my head as I struggle to get back into the seat. The carriage gives another violent bounce, nearly sending me right back off the cushion again, but I brace myself against the walls, managing to stay upright.
It lurches to a stop, either on purpose or because of the thick snow, and then Digby is there, wrenching the door open, eyes scanning over me to check that I’m okay.
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
“Carriage is stuck,” he explains, holding the door open.
I climb out, my feet sinking into the deep snow that nearly reaches my knees.
“Alright?” Sail hollers as he brings Crisp forward.
All I can do is nod, because the howling wind would only rip my voice away. I use the stirrup to haul myself up, and as soon as I’m seated, Sail grasps both the reins and leads our horses through the thick snow, their heavy hooves forcing a path through the white.
Squinting past the wind, I look back to see that the other carriages are stuck too, the snow an easy three feet deep, holding the wheels hostage.
Guards are scrambling and shouting at each other, trying to free the horses and help the saddles, while leading everyone toward cover.
As soon as Sail and I reach the trees, we get instant relief from the hail. A few pellets still manage to hit us through the branches but not nearly as much.
The guards are chopping and stacking wood, making quick work to build a fire. When they try to light it, it spits and smokes, the stubborn, wet pieces refusing to light. Until Digby marches over, stern as ever. One cast of his flint sends sparks flying, catching onto the kindling like it doesn’t dare disobey him.
Sail leads me where the other horses are gathered, the snow cleared away so they have a spot to rest, a bale of hay already there waiting for them.
I jump down, ready to help with Crisp, but Sail insists that I go sit and get warm while he tends to the horses. He directs me to one of the downed logs in front of the growing fire, and I take a seat, feeling exhausted and shivering all the way through, even the marrow in my bones feeling brittle with cold. The other saddles slowly filter in too, sitting on other logs surrounding the flames, huddling next to each other for extra warmth.
I watch as the guards stack wood, set up tents, haul trunks, and shovel snow out of the way to build up a windbreak, not one of them idle while I shiver beside the weak fire, holding out my shaking, gloved hands to the flames.
The guards pile lightweight bricks near it, and I know each and every one will be gone as soon as they’re hot, to be stuffed into sleeping bags, helping to warm our feet while we rest.
The guards work efficiently and quickly, amazing me at how fast they get everything done. Soon, everyone is gathered near the fire, tents scattered everywhere a gap in the trees allows it.
The hail falls. Pebbles of ice peppering down, ricocheting off bark and branches alike, leaving splintered wood in its wake. It clacks against the trees like small explosions, while the branches overhead groan from the push of the wind.
It was just a matter of time before a storm rolled in. We’re lucky that we had mild nights for as long as we did.
I spot Sail off to the left setting up my tent, and I walk over to him where he’s busy staking the tarp into the ground and pulling the fabric taut.
“Want help?” I ask, my voice raised so I can be heard over the hail.
But Digby walks by with my rolled-up furs in his arms. “No. You don’t help.”
“We serve you, Miss Auren. Not the other way around,” Sail tells me.
“That’s good, because I don’t actually know how to put up a tent,” I joke, making Sail laugh.
After he gets the whole thing together, he and Digby quickly pile furs inside, along with my own lantern to give off both light and a little bit of heat, even though my tent is nearest to the fire.
I feel a little guilty at the special treatment, especially knowing that the guards and other saddles have to share a tent with five or six others, while I get one all to myself. Though, at least they get to share the body heat.