I updated the story with the name changes—but be forewarned. I did not update anything else (except for a few spelling mistakes, but I'm not sure that I got them all). Prepare to be confused as the story goes along, because there are some minor spots that desperately need to be reworked. Hopefully, kind advice from kind reviewers will help me to set that straight. :D

Also...when you alert me of mistakes....please copy/paste the whole paragraph that it's in, and then tell me the error. Otherwise...it takes me forever to look for something, and sometimes I can't even find it...

Finding a body, half buried in the snow was nothing new in these parts. Elena had spent her entire life in the valley and knew enough that, every winter, some poor fool met his end at the hands of the ice and cold. The only thing that could be done was to arrange a proper burial, and thank the Gods that the snows were at least merciful—there were other ways to die within the wilderness of the Hellebores, and not all of them as kind as freezing.

By her twentieth year, she had found her share of enough hapless victims that her stomach no longer seized into crippling pains, and her hands didn't shake near the body—unless of course she happened to be alone on a trip fetching water.

Sure, the sight of a dark shape of a curled body sprawled across a path in on her way through the woods had sent a chill through her heart. With her mind on the list of chores waiting for her at the hold, she'd been too startled to scream. Instead she had squealed, and sent most of the water from her bucket splashing onto the ice below.

Images of a black wolf, howling for her blood, filled her mind., and she half expected a dark shaped to lunge from the shadows of the forest trees for her throat. But the shape had remained still, and few steps closer had revealed 'it' as a man.

Eventually, she reminded herself to keep breathing and not waste her trip to the river by spilling more of the water she carried. Her leggings were soaked, chilling her legs to the bone and her boots squished with every step.

Slowly and carefully, she rested her full pail against the trunk of a tree and sat on her knees for a closer look.

The man was pale. He almost resembled the ice on which he lay. Still, the sharp bones of his face glinted beneath his skin. He possessed a strong chin and wide, deep-set eyes beneath their bluing lids. He would have been handsome alive.

Tangled, and matted yellow hair fell to his shoulders like a soft cape of gold—and served as his main protection against the cold. Looking him over from head to toe, Elena realized just how little he wore. A tunic and breeches, both matted with filth, covered the brunt of his legs and torso. The hems of the trousers were shredded to his calves, leaving his feet bare, and his arms were all bruised skin and bloodied scratches.

A wound—the likes of which Elena had never seen—peeked like a half moon from beneath the collar of his shirt. All in all, he was a wretched sight.

Elena swallowed back a groan, as a peek beneath his tunic revealed more disfiguring injuries. A swatch of jagged lines crisscrossed a patch of his stomach. Most of them were long-healed, but others had been left bloodied and gaping.

She gulped back her breakfast of oats, and leaned forward for a closer look. Her own fascination scared her, but she couldn't keep her fingers from reaching out. His shirt, stiff with cold and blood came away easily, leaving his chest bare.

The scars on this man were astounding. Some of them appeared to be years old, while others, merely days. If Elena had to take a guess, she would have pegged his injuries from everything from whipping down to beatings, and even—here she gulped—animal bites.

She traced the length of one of the scars and flinched as the pad of her finger brushed against his chest. He was cold.

The realization sent a jolt through her body as if she'd been zapped by lightning. What did you expect? She asked herself. No part of her ventured forth an answer.

Instead she leaned over the body and wrestled the man's shirt back in place. He deserved dignity now, and the least she could do was not gape at him like some mindless idiot. Thoughts flared through her head of what to do. Was she strong enough to carry him? Would anyone help her carry him? Something in her gut told that she wouldn't leave him here, no matter what.

What will you do? Her logic battled. Drag him home over your shoulders?

She realized, with a sudden dread, that that was exactly what she would do—if it ever came to it. At least get your chores done...unless the wolves desire an easy meal, he will be here when you return.

With a final smoothing pat, she covered the man's ruined chest. The edge of her brushed nicked the half-circle would on his collar, and it was as if all the air had been sucked from the universe.

A hand—his hand—reached for hers in a blinding instant. Ice met warmth and Elena could hear her own scream slice the air.

Ragged breaths, she in no right mind would have missed before, shook the man's chest as if his very own heart threatened to explode from it. Save for the subtle movement, and grip of ice of her wrist, the man remained anything but alive. His body barely moved, but for the hand clenching off the blood flow to Elena's hand—that and his eyes had opened.

They glared unseeingly out at the world. Glazed over with pain and a crazed light that reached from beneath their golden depths. They were unlike any Elena had ever seen.

In a village, where the only variations in eye color were a dark brown and a even darker brown, the man's eyes revealed the depths of his foreign nature more than anything else.

Elena couldn't tear her own away. She had never seen such a look of fear, disgust and hatred on one human being's face. He managed all three, and many more as he probed her gaze with a cunning glare, searching for weakness. His anger seared her skin in a way that fire never would.

Then, as though his heart had died again in the same breath, his eyes slid closed and his hand fell to the snow. The snow beneath him barely betrayed his existence.

Elena snapped into action though her mind still reeled. “Oh, my Gods,” she croaked and probed his brow with her fingers, seeking a warmth that she might have missed before. Her fingers came away empty and frozen stiff with a cold that went much deeper than any natural pain.

Get him to shelter, some part of her mind demanded, and she hastened to her feet. Her boots slipped on the ice, almost sending her toppling over, but somehow she managed to maintain her balance.

Keep him warm, was her only thought as she took off her cloak and draped it over his shoulders. Then she ran. Harder and faster than she ever had, she raced to the village, leaving the water pail behind.