Giselle woke to a dull ache across her ribs and a thin light that had pushed through the shutters. The cabin smelled of smoke and damp cloth. For a few seconds she could not remember anything, then memory arrived in pieces: the cold, distant torches in the dark, the creature and Fabio yelling her name in a manner that shook her awake at the mere memory. Her throat tightened.
She pushed herself up and found the motion sharp enough to make her head swim. The bed beneath her was rough and low, covered with a woolen blanket that still carried the faint smell of pine and the faint tang of after-fire. The room was quiet except for the last dying embers in the hearth and the soft thump of falling snow against the roof. It was clearly still night, with the darkness outside bleeding into the room. She must've been unconscious for less than a few hours.
