George
**Bori the Woodsman
The Witherlands, The Iron Plaines**

Bori's only verbal recognition of the comment was a quick grunt. He took a bundle of cloth from his pack and applied it to the wounded area, holding firm pressure on it. "Once the bleeding stops you need warmth, the cold has sapped your strength." As blood soaked the cloth and got a bit onto Bori's mittens, he began to mutter in Oldtongue, "Strength of the mountain." Under his breath.

As the time stretched, perceived hours ticking away each second as the fight for life was warring Bori's thoughts could not help but turn to the young woman he never knew the name of. The one he had killed in a blind panic in his youth. The shock in her eyes and the dark red of her blood.
Lolita
**Vanessa Ward
The Witherlands, The Iron Plaines**

The nerves in her body had grown numb as the frozen temperature surrounding her from both the iced air and snow consumed her. She could sense the pressure against her stomach as the man placed weight against her wound to prevent it from bleeding further, however her throat continued to burn like a flame lodged in her throat. 

Vanessa's lips paled to a light blue with a purple hue from the blood loss and the cold, yet she refused to let sleep take her. As she gazed towards the stranger aiding her survival, she mustered every strength that remained in her body to lift her arm and grasped her wool covered fingers around one of his wrists. There was the rare moment of vulnerability as she looked towards him with desperation. She wasn't ready to die just yet, which was evident from the fear that shone through her stare.
George
**Bori the Woodsman
The Witherlands, The iron Plaines**

Bori did not react, nor would he look her in the eye. He kept the pressure and waited, the time struggling to crawl forward as it was burdened with memories. He looked down at the blood in the snow until the bleeding slowed. Bori shook his head, redirecting her hands from his own wrists to the cloth now soaked in blood. "Hold." He commanded. While the initial danger of bleeding out slowed with the blood itself, the risk of cold only grew. She needed shelter, and fast.

Bori began to pack the snow around her down, creating a wall of sorts around her akin to if she were laying in a bathtub. The packed snow would act as an insulator and the rushed structure would have to do for now. A small spot was carved out for a fire, where he placed his dry kindling. He finally looked back at her. "We can't move you, or it may reopen the wound. This will have to do for now." With that he draped the large animal skin from his pack over the makeshift den, leaving room for the smoke from the fire to clear properly.

With another grumbled sigh he fumbled for his flint as he tried to ignore the blood on his mitts.