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The wind was howling, the snow was blowing, and winter was throwing a fit. It might not have bothered her overmuch, but fur-lined slippers, a makeshift cloak and a sleeping gown would hardly be considered enough protection under usual circumstances - and these circumstances were anything but normal. Eliza was exhausted, starving, and near-delirious. She was also certain that she must look a fine mess, with tangled hair and dirty clothing and the occasional bloody scrape or scratch. Not to mention her tear-stained cheeks and the shadows that had doubtless formed under her eyes.

Of course none of that mattered, as she was quite certain she was going to collapse at any moment and she would not have the strength to get back up. She was quite lost, you see, and had been for some time.

Navigating her way away from the Ward Tree and out of the Wood had been well and dandy - an experience, to be sure, but she still suspected that the magic had somehow guided her back out - but what she was meant to do afterwards was a different matter entirely. There had not been a trace of civilization in sight and she had no idea where along the massive border of the Wood she might have come out. Thus, she had no idea which direction she might need to go in order to reach shelter and safety, let alone home.

Her weary mind attempted to recall if she had ever read about any Chosen dying in their quest for their totem. No memory of any such occurrence came to her attention, however. Perhaps she was simply too tired to remember. Or perhaps she would become the first Chosen to perish after only having had her totem less than a day. Poor thing. He would never know life. At least they would be infamous. Yes. Tragic, infamous, laughingstocks.

A quiet, breathy giggle escaped her, and if there was an edge of hysteria to it, well, it only made her laugh all the more. Or it did. Until the coughing started. Doubling over, she struggled to remain on her feet. Mustn't fall over. She'd never get back up again.

Some faint shape seemed to be dancing in the snow. Or perhaps it was the snow. What was that? Had winter itself taken form? It almost looked like a Guardian made of the white stuff. Perhaps it was there to guide her to the great beyond. Or perhaps she really was hallucinating. But then the shape was gone and Eliza was alone again for a small eternity.

Banishing the image from her mind, she was shocked to say the least when a man appeared before her. Where had he come from? Perhaps he was a hallucination, too. But no. Imaginings of the mind did not catch you when you were falling. Nor did they place you upon snow-beasts that were far more solid and warm than they ought to be.

Of course I can walk, she wanted to protest, however false that statement may be, but her lips were numb and her tongue stumbled over the words. They came out as little more than a quiet breath. Who are you?

But then his heavy cloak was around her and he was sitting behind her and the difference in their body temperature was so pronounced that Eliza began shivering almost at once. Her jaw ached from its chattering and all she wanted to do was huddle deeper into the warmth.

The rhythmic gallop of the Guardian below her lulled her into a strange sort of trance like a babe being rocked in her mother's arms. She drooped further against the man's body, reveling in the warmth. So warm. Why couldn't she stop shaking?

It could have been forever or but a few moments, but when they stopped and she was pulled back down Eliza was hardly able to see straight. Her muscles jerked and twitched. Try though she might, the only things keeping her upright were the man's hold and the doe's solid presence before her. She swayed, the doe's sweet breath against her cheek was at once comforting and disorienting.

Was he talking to her?

Her vision swam and Eliza found herself incapable of caring about such things as who the man was or what he was saying or even where she was. All she wanted was to give in to her exhaustion and sleep. She could lie down right here...

The abrupt change in temperature was a shock, but Eliza was not quite coherent enough to protest the stinging and itching in her slowly thawing extremities. She was aware in some distant sort of way that she was finally lying down. It was nice, not standing. Not being upright. The heavy thing that was draped over her swamped her diminutive figure, but it was warm, so warm. Her body leached that heat right out of it.

When the man took hold of her hands, it at last seemed to rouse her somewhat. With a mewl of protest, she tried to pull her hand back. But she was weak, so very weak. The action could not have won a tug-o-war with a kitten, let alone a grown man.

Still, her left hand was clenched in a tight fist, fingers curled around something that could not be entirely hidden in her tiny hand. Hints of pale grey peeked out from between her fingers, smooth and hard. A stone, perhaps? Some trinket? What was it that she was so adamant to protect, even in her delirium? What had she managed to hold on to, stumbling though a snowstorm and looking like death?

Take what away? It was only when the warmth from the doe's body seeped into her hands that Eliza realized the ache in her hand was from more than just the cold. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she eased her fingers open. Her loosening grip and revealed hints of mauve to accent the grey. Ah. Her totem.The beautiful, terrible thing.

Though it took all of her fractured concentration, she transferred the totem from one hand to the other. Carefully, she straightened her cramped digits and laid them against the warm, warm doe, sighing as the pain eased.

...tea. That's what he had said. How was she supposed to drink tea and warm her hands at the same time? Ah, but it took so much effort to hold her arms up to the heat; and she was so very tired. She blinked heavy-lidded eyes and tried to focus on the teacup. It smelled so good. Allowing her arms to drop, she tried to reach for it.

With the cup gripped awkwardly between the cramped fingers of one hand and the already occupied fingers of the other - and supported by the warmer, larger hands of the man - Eliza managed to bring the liquid to her lips without spilling any. It was hot, but not so intolerably hot that she could not drink it, and as soon as the first little sip wet her parched throat, she realized just how thirsty she was. Holding the cup more firmly, she drank greedily, but had to stop when she took too much and started coughing again.

Catching her breath, she blinked and stared at the buttons on the man's shirt with a little more focus than she had been capable of earlier. Though it was difficult, she took more restrained sips of tea thereafter. The warmth in her belly at once steadied her and began to lull her towards oblivion.

It was not so very far to fall. Unconsciousness, after all, was simply a matter of letting go. She was warm and inside and there was tea in her belly. It seemed she could want for little more. The empty teacup slipped from her fingers as darkness washed over her.

Eliza moaned quietly and shifted in the bed, bordering on the edge of consciousness. It was so warm and she was ever so tired. Nothing sounded quite so appealing as allowing sleep to wash over her again. It would be ever so lovely, yes...

But a gentle tap at her door and a voice roused her once more, bringing her a little closer to awareness. At the least, it gradually became evident to her that the soap used on the sheets did not smell like hers, nor did the sheets themselves feel like hers, nor was the bed quite as soft...and who had that voice belonged to?

Her eyes cracked open and she winced at the light streaming through a crack in the curtains. Curtains which were not her own. With a gasp, she scrambled upright, her limbs tangling in the linens, forcing her to straighten herself out before she could quite manage it. Then she clutched the offending blankets to her chest and stared at the door, panting and wide-eyed. "...who is it?"

Though she could hear muffled words through the door, she could not quite make them out. She hugged the blankets closer, staring at that door as though waiting for someone to come bursting through. But it remained closed and footsteps receded. She wondered if whoever was there had gone.

When the voice spoke up once more, she scarcely managed to stop herself from jumping. Well. At least she could make out his words, now. That was something.

...Jordun Kinross? She was familiar with the name, of course. It was common course for children of breeding to memorize the family lines. Though she did not often put the knowledge to good use, for once she was grateful for it. Jordun was the younger son of the Kinross family, unless she was mistaken. Had she met him before? Not officially, she thinks, but perhaps she they had attended a party together at some point. But why on earth was he here?

Oh. Outside? Why? Oh!

She gasped and scrambled though her sheets until she spotted the little grey thing. Then, she could only stare at it in disbelief for several long moments, not daring to touch it. Such a tiny thing to cause such trouble. But for the way the red swirls seemed to glow and pulse, she could almost imagine it a harmless trinket. Ah, but she knew better. Her journey had been anything but harmless.

Oh! But Mr. Kinross was outside, and he said he had found her. Oh, how embarrassing. Yet rather than succumb to such an emotion just yet, she looked back at the door. "Where...where are we?" She should still be south of Palisade, but that told her very little. There was a lot of country south of the capitol, even if she only counted country near the Wood.