Ambling in the gloom of a wintry dusk, a man on horseback picked his way through the dense woodland. With no real destination in mind, he'd been wandering aimlessly in circles for hours. Yet the creeping shadows and the plummeting temperature was beginning to urge him to decide on his direction. He was, after all, not dressed for the weather and inching ever closer to intoxication. Clutching loosely on the horse's reins, he took another hearty guzzle of wine from his flagon. It was almost drained, yet another thing prompting him for a choice. Unfortunately, nothing awaited him but a lonely house and an empty cellar.

Just as a shiver crept down his spine, the horses' ears pricked. Sitting up straighter, they both heard something, a murmur carried by the wind. He paused and tilted his head to listen. A whisper came again though slightly louder this time. The breeze picked up, rustling the few remaining leaves in the trees above. Perhaps he was losing his sanity, he mused.

Disregarding that notion, Yanik led his horse off in the direction of the voice. It suddenly felt colder, as if the temperature dropped a few more degrees, his skin sensed this, but the alcohol burning in his blood kept him warm despite his lack of proper attire. He recalled now how much he had actually consumed. Perhaps I'm just hearing things. Common sense lingered somewhere in the offset, urging him to turn around and go home.

Then he heard it again, but much closer now it wasn't a voice, this time more so a whimper. He lurched forward suddenly, very alert despite his inebriation levels. Snow began to descend like white feathers in the cold wind, impairing his already hazy vision, yet he persisted. Dismounting from his saddle and wading through a shrub of trees frosted in whiteness, he found himself on a cobbled shore of the river.

He stopped dead in his tracks as his empty cask of wine slipped from his fingertips and dropped into the fresh powdery ground with a muted thud.

A dark figure was littered on the ground beside the frozen river bed. Trees on either side of the path were tall and shrouded the moonlight so much he could barely make it out. Rubbing his eyes as if to clear the liquor out of them, he looked again; the shape was distinctly human curled in a foetal position.

"Hey," he called, but a gloomy dread sucked all the volume out of his voice. Stooping down, his icy fingers prodded the figure, yet somehow it felt even colder than he was. Was it a corpse?

Straining his eyes in the limited light, it looked like a child, curled up tightly in a foetal position. Fiddling in his pockets, he found a matchbox and struck a match; the dim glow of the singular flame was enough to discern it was a girl.

His stomach sunk as he realised her hands were bound. An escaped prisoner, then? He angled around to glimpse her face but couldn't make out anything through the tendrils of her long hair.

He held his hand to her nose and felt as a feather-light breath touched his skin. She was barely drawing breath. His match had burnt down and the sudden pain of the fire meeting his fingers woke him up even more. She needs help.

He gently pulled her from beside the icy river bed. She was incredibly light in his arms, and he carried her carefully towards his horse. His adrenaline was pumping hard, incinerating the alcohol from his veins. Feeling incredibly alert, he placed the girl upon his saddle. Taking a knife from his saddlebag, he cut the strap binding her wrists before hoisting himself up.

They picked up the trail where it opened up onto a stone-laid road. Even in the dark, the path would take them directly to the town centre, which housed a hospice. Her small, frail frame cradled against his chest jostled as they made haste. A whimper of pain escaped her lips, but when he looked down, her eyes were sealed shut. "Damn it, lady, don't die. A little longer. You need to hold on for a little more." He babbled this way to her the whole way, hoping his words could somehow penetrate her unconsciousness.

It was deep past nightfall when he reached the outskirts of the Central town. Azalea. He despised the town more than he despised himself. But all those thoughts couldn't touch him now as his mind and worries dwelt on the injured girl jostling against his chest.

The horse's gallop came to a slow as he turned down a familiar laneway. It was a gamble going this way, but he had a strong hunch that the girl was a runaway. Yet another soul attempting to escape their fate. If he handed her to doctors at the hospice, word would spread and all too soon, the Governors would get wind of it. He would only be prolonging her suffering, not saving her life.

It was a cold and snowy night, so, fortunately, he hadn't encountered anyone on his travels. He half-expected to meet someone, a guard no doubt, and then have a difficult time explaining himself. Reeking of alcohol and with a bleeding damsel in his clutches, it wouldn't have looked good but he'd been lucky so far.

His knuckles rapt twice on the wooden door; his frosty breath was streaming out as his nerves became frantic. He was desperately hoping that his cousin was home. He knocked again impatiently before a man armed with a lantern opened the door and recognised him immediately.

"Yan, what on earth are you doing here?" Theo assumed his drunken cousin had decided to visit him in the middle of the night...again. It wouldn't be the first time. Yanik cut him off at once without a slur in his voice.

"Please, I need your help!"

"What is it this time?" Theo eyed him wearily. He was groggy from another long shift at the hospice and rubbed his eyes.

"Let us in; she's been injured!" Yanik whisper shouted, his breathing was ragged as he motioned to his horse. Yanik's frantic state hastened Theo to follow him outside. The doctor inched closer, holding up his lantern to sight Yanik, only then catching sight of the girl hunched over Samson, Yanik's trusty horse. Yanik cradled the girl in his arms and carried her inside the door which had been left ajar.

"What on earth Yan? Who is this woman?" Theo hastily followed but his voice dried up in his throat as he sighted the woman's unconscious face. "Agatha?" He murmured in disbelief as he turned ghostly pale.

"Stop wasting time with your nonsense. This girl is barely breathing!" Yanik exclaimed as he strode down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Theo trailed after them in a state of disbelief. Yanik reached the bedroom and placed the small girl down on the bed. For the first time, he noticed she was dressed in men's clothes.

"I don't understand. Why not take her to the hospice? They can care for her better than I can?"

"Just shut up and help her. You took the medical oath; it's your responsibility to help anyone who's injured." Yanik spat the words out.

Theo eyed him furiously. He certainly didn't need any reminding about oaths and strode over to her at once. He touched his fingers to her dainty wrist, checking her pulse. It was weak as he listened, and his other hand automatically smoothed the hair out of her eyes. Her pale face was battered and bruised. The spatter of blood was a bitter contrast against her milky white skin. But that's not what made him pause as an inexplicable sensation coursed through him.

"Will you at least explain what on earth happened? And who is she?"

Yanik took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering in a breathless rush. "I found her in the forest, collapsed by the riverbank. I don't know what the hell happened to her, but her hands were bound. She's been unconscious the whole time, and I brought her here as fast as I could." Theo's penetrating eyes noticed the blood mattered in her dark hair.

"I need some more light," he commanded Yanik in an authoritative voice as he probed her skull. Yanik at once lit a lantern and a few candles on the dresser. He held the lantern over the girl granting his cousin light. She had been hit in the head, but thankfully, the bleeding had clotted.

He inspected the rest of her in silence. This lady, whoever she was, had survived something awful. There was bruising around her slender neck, where he could practically see where the fingers choked her. Her wrists were bruised and bloodied from where the leather belt had bit her skin. She'd been restrained and abused. The more he saw, the more he wished to unsee. He'd performed countless surgeries and seen people die many times. But something about the nameless girl on his bed got to him. He shook his head to clear his mind and concentrate on the task at hand.

"Will she survive?" Yanik asked as his cousin tended to her wounds, cleaning away the blood and dirt before applying sterile bandages.

"Head wounds are tricky. There's no way of telling if she has brain swelling or when she'll wake. I don't believe her other wounds are fatal..." His cousin's words droned out as Yanik sighted her face in the dim light. He could now understand his cousin's initial question and demeanour. He hadn't seen her well before, but now he wondered how he had missed it. His heart panged in his chest; she reminded him of someone who had passed. But the more he studied her, the more he saw she was somebody else entirely.

"Yanik?! Did you hear me? I need more blankets," Theo instructed, cutting through his musings.

The sky had become lighter outside the window, and the snow had finally stopped sheeting down. Each of the girl's wounds were wrapped in bandages, and she was swaddled in blankets like a newborn. The doctor collapsed on the other side of the bed, utterly exhausted.

"Great job," Yanik uttered in support, but his cousin scoffed against the mattress.

"Say that when she recovers," Theo muttered grimly as he rolled onto his back, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

"She's alive, and that's what matters," Yanik encouraged his cousin. "But I can't help but wonder where she came from?"

"I suppose we can ask her that when she wakes up." Theo stared wistfully at her swollen face. He felt sick to his core that someone could do such a thing. His fists scrunched up in tension as he tried swallowing down his distraught feelings. "At least she's safe for now."