With the immediate threat neutralized, my gaze swept the snow-covered expanse, searching frantically for any sign of Danny. There was nothing. No footprints beyond those of the wolves and Heather, no discarded clothing, no distant cries carried on the wind. It appeared he was no longer here. Looks like Danny will still be the Iron Fist, I thought, a bittersweet realization.
My attention snapped back to Heather Rand. Her unconscious form was alarmingly still against the blood-stained snow. Kneeling beside her, my hands, despite their own fresh wounds, moved with practiced urgency to assess her injuries. A quick, grim assessment confirmed my worst fears: she had, at most, a few precious hours in these freezing conditions. Hypothermia was a silent, swift killer, and her extensive blood loss only hastened its grip.
Ignoring the throbbing pain in my shoulder and the countless scratches that now stung with icy cold, I pushed myself back to my feet. My own wounds were bleeding steadily, and a deep, bone-chilling cold was beginning to seep into my core. I was freezing, losing body temperature rapidly, and knew I needed urgent treatment myself. Every movement was a struggle, but Heather's life depended on my speed.
Stumbling through the deep snow, I retrieved my discarded bag and the foldable stretcher, dragging them laboriously back to Heather's side. The effort sent jolts of agony through my shoulder, but I gritted my teeth. With urgent, trembling fingers, I began to remove her torn, heavy winter clothing. The biting cold of the air, already chilling her severely, became even more dangerous as I exposed her skin. I carefully tore strips of cloth from her less damaged garments, removing the debris and frozen blood clinging to her deep bite marks, cleaning them as best I could with the meager water from my thermal bottle. Her entire body was racked with violent shivers, her lips a faint blue. Her breathing was shallow, hitched gasps of air. She was losing temperature at an alarming rate, the thin veil of consciousness ready to slip away at any moment.
The snow, paradoxically, could also be a protector. I began to dig, frantically scooping and piling it around her, forming a makeshift insulated cocoon. I carefully buried her inside, leaving only her head and one wrist exposed to the frigid air, hoping to stabilize her core temperature. Time was running out. I uncapped the vials of my parents' experimental healing serum and the high-density nutrient solution. With practiced precision, I quickly injected both into her struggling body. A silent prayer echoed in my mind: Please, let this nutrient solution work. My parents had assured me that even if its effectiveness was slightly lacking, it was harmless, but 'harmless' wasn't enough now. I needed it to be a miracle.
The minutes crawled by, each one an eternity. After five agonizing minutes, a faint flush returned to Heather's cheeks, and her breathing grew slightly stronger, less ragged. The medicine was working. But the relief was short-lived as a wave of intense dizziness washed over me, my vision tunneling. I couldn't wait any longer. My own body was protesting, screaming for attention, for warmth, for the very same life-saving concoctions I had just given her.
With trembling fingers, I began to strip off my own blood-soaked, freezing clothes, leaving only my underwear. The cold was unbearable, but I pushed through it. I carefully placed all my removed clothing onto the foldable stretcher, folded it, and then tied the whole bundle with a rope to my foot. It was a bizarre setup, but one meant for desperate survival. Then, I quickly buried myself too, mirroring Heather's position, leaving only my head and hands outside the snow cocoon. The biting cold was immediate, a shock to my exposed skin. Once I was done injecting myself with the last of the precious medicine and nutrient solution, I pushed both of my hands into the snow too, forcing them to endure the chill, trusting the medicine to do its work. My consciousness, already weakened by exhaustion, blood loss, and the intense cold, started to fade. The world spun, lights dancing behind my eyelids. As darkness crept in, a single, fervent prayer formed in my mind, a desperate plea for our survival, for a chance to see the sun rise again. I hope no other animal comes here, to eat us while we sleep.
When I finally opened my eyes again, it wasn't the stark, blinding white of the blizzard that greeted me, but the gentle, pale light of the morning sun, shining weakly through a thin veil of clouds. I tried to move, to shift my aching limbs, but found myself utterly stuck. A chilling realization dawned: a thin, brittle layer of ice now encased my body from the neck down, trapping me within my snowy grave. It looks like my body heat melted the snow, but when it returned to normal the low temperature turned water into ice.
And so began the most embarrassing ten minutes of my entire existence. I wriggled, twisted, and contorted my body like a trapped caterpillar, my teeth chattering, my muscles protesting. It was an undignified, desperate dance against the ice, but finally, with a loud crack, I broke free, showering myself with shards of frozen snow. Thank God, nobody saw me doing that!
(AN - Except for a certain bald woman, hiding in the mirror dimension with a camera.)
At that time I had no Idea what was waiting for me in the mountains on my way back.