The hours crept with painful slowness. Within the shepherd's hut, the fire burned low, casting shifting patterns of gold and shadow upon the rough timber walls. Outside, the storm's fury waned into silence, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind threading through the pines.
The girl stirred restlessly upon the bench, her cloak wrapped tight about her shoulders. Sleep evaded her, though weariness pressed heavy upon her eyelids. Her heart beat too loudly, for at intervals it seemed she could still hear them—the baying of hounds, the crunch of boots upon snow, voices carried by the wind.
"Do you hear it still?" she whispered.
The beloved leaned close, his face drawn with fatigue yet alight with vigilance. "Aye. They circle us, like wolves. But the storm has bought us time, and time is our only ally."
Her hand trembled in his, yet she smiled faintly. "Even wolves must tire. Perhaps dawn will see them turned back."
He gazed into her eyes, tender yet solemn. "Or dawn may find them at our door. We must be ready, love—for flight, or for defiance."
---
In the far corner, the shepherd shifted upon his cot. His grey eyes glimmered in the firelight, watchful though half-closed. He had said little since their arrival, yet his silence spoke of much. They were strangers in his hearth, and though pity had opened the door, mistrust lingered in his heart.
"Ye both are hunted," he muttered suddenly, his voice rasping through the quiet. "And hunted folk bring ruin upon any who harbour them. Mark my words—if they come knockin', ye must face them yerselves. I've no quarrel in yer cause."
The beloved inclined his head gravely. "We ask no sacrifice of you, sir. Only the shelter you have already given. At dawn, we shall depart, and trouble you no longer."
The old man gave no reply, only turned upon his side, though his shoulders stiffened at every groan of the wind.
---
The night deepened. At last, the girl's head sank upon her beloved's shoulder, and despite her fears, slumber claimed her for a little while. He held her close, guarding her with a stillness born of resolve.
It was then he heard it—faint yet unmistakable—the crunch of boots upon frozen earth, steady and deliberate. His breath caught. Slowly he turned his head toward the door.
The sound grew nearer. Voices murmured, harsh and low, muffled by the storm but distinct. Lantern-light flickered against the windowpane, pale and ghostly.
His heart thundered. The hunters had found them.
---
The shepherd rose with a curse, his eyes sharp with fear. "They come," he hissed. "Did I not warn ye? I'll not be dragged to the gallows for yer sake."
The beloved sprang to his feet, his hand tightening around the girl's shoulder, waking her. She started, her eyes wide with terror, as the unmistakable sound of fists pounded upon the door.
"Open!" a voice thundered, commanding and cruel. "In the King's name—open, or we shall break it down!"
The shepherd faltered, trembling. His gaze darted between the door and his desperate guests.
"Do not betray us," the girl pleaded, her voice breaking. She clutched the old man's hand, her eyes shining with tears. "You said you would not cast us into the storm. Do not cast us to death."
The shepherd wavered, his lips drawn tight, the lines of age deepening with indecision.
---
Another blow shook the door, the wood groaning beneath the assault.
The beloved stepped forward, his voice ringing with sudden fire. "Stand aside, sir. If blood must be spilt, let it be mine. I shall not cower in the dark while they demand our lives."
The girl clung to him, her face pale. "No—do not go! If they take you—"
"They shall not," he whispered fiercely, pressing his brow to hers. "We have come too far, borne too much. Tonight, love, I swear upon my very soul—they shall not part us."
---
The pounding grew relentless, the hunters' shouts filling the night. Then, with a splintering crack, the door shuddered, half-broken upon its hinges.
The shepherd staggered back, muttering prayers beneath his breath.
The beloved drew himself to his full height, pulling the girl behind him. His eyes blazed with a defiance born of desperation. He seized a length of iron from beside the hearth, crude yet heavy, and raised it in readiness.
The girl's hands clutched at his arm, her voice trembling but resolute. "If you fight, I fight beside you. They shall not take you while I breathe."
And in that moment, as the door burst wide and the hunters stormed within—lanterns flaring, blades gleaming, voices roaring—the lovers stood as one, bound not by fear, but by the unyielding strength of a love that would not bend, even before the cruel hand of fate.