In the darker hours of the night, the young hunter found himself in the depths of a nightmare. He was inside the cabin, just like earlier today, sitting and playing his flute. Even inside, snow and ice swirled around him, a maelstrom of deadly cold that he couldn't feel. But he wasn't alone.
He could hear them outside again, scratching at the door, but he found that even when he pulled the flute away from his lips, thd music didn't stop. Neither did the ice, the snow, the swirling wind.
The inside of the dream cabin slowly encrusted with snow and ice, and he found he couldn't answer the door - it was frozen shut. He could see them just there, through the cracks in the door, but in human form. Cold. Naked. Afraid. But no matter how much he struggled, the door wouldn't open. He could feel his fingers growing unresponsive as the cold set in to his bones, the flesh going gray as it froze and died.
Still outside, he could hear them, yelling at him now to open the door, but he couldn't. His eyes went dark as slowly the ice overcame his body. They say you die for real if you die in your dreams....
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....but it was not so. With a start, covered in icy sweat, Gaelio shot up from his pallet on the floor. Without hesitation, he stood up and went over to the bed.
Thank the Gods - they were still there, perfectly fine and unfrozen. Gaelio raised a hand and ran his fingers through his hair, and suddenly noticed how cold it was, turning to see the fire had died in the night.
"Well...that explains that..." he said. He moved to the fireplace, grabbing the poker as he went. He stirred through the ashes, seeking a few coals that had yet to die.
That explained the dream, he supposed. It was freezing inside - the fire must have been out for some time, and he was grateful that he had given Josephine and Bay his bed. But whatever the reason, he hoped that he wouldn't have that dream again - it scared him.
Digging out a few still-bright coals, he gathered them all in a pile. He grabbed a few logs - "Gotta get some firewood, today..." he mumbled - and set them around the pile, blowing on them until a small fire burst into being.
With a sigh of relief, he sat back, and stretched. Sleeping on the floor was punishing, but worth it if his new friends weren't freezing in his place. Better that the one who was always freeze a little. Not a woman and her child. Not them. His thoughts turned back to the dream, and he shuddered.
He picked up his chair, moving it back to the fire, and grabbed his flute. He began playing softly, the music quiet, but lifting. Something to help him feel better. Those two-tone eyes of his closed, and he let himself fall into the music.