This is not what Hiran had thought his life would look like two days after infiltrating a Jarles stronghold. He had imagined something a lot more dignified—being on horseback, for instance—and he had imagined he would have six lucid traveling companions instead of one.

Well, technically he has three fellow travelers, but Hiran doesn't count the two wet, unconscious slabs of baggage as companions. Particularly when he has to slog them through waist-high snow.

Yes, this is not how Hiran imagined things.

If Hiran has to be honest with himself—and he is not entirely certain he should be—things are going rather poorly. And, if Hiran has to be honest with himself once more, that last kernel of truth was a bit of an understatement.

The temperature is plummeting, and both his and Tara's pants and boots are soaked through, any kind of known shelter is hours away, they have no Smith-caller, and they have no means to make a fire.

They're probably going to die out here.

When Hiran imagined his death it wasn't by freezing in some arctic Jarles backwoods while dragging along the unconscious body of a man whose name he doesn't even know. There are many things wrong with this picture, the first being the rather banal but slow and torturous method of death, the second being, of course, him saving a complete stranger. This is the kind of stupid thing Lei or Fae does, and there's not even any glory in it as it seems very likely that no one here will live to tell the tale.

He's definitely thought about just dumping the body, but somehow he thinks that Tara, who is shouldering Finn's small, limp form, wouldn't think too highly of this.

It's Hiran's fault anyway: he had just kind of grabbed the kid without thinking. Tara was carrying Finn so Hiran could Skill at anyone who followed and the whole place was coming down around them—there were explosions to the south and Hiran remembers hoping it was the sounds of Allayria and Lei escaping, not dying, when the kid had kind of stumbled across their path. Hiran hasn't a clue how he got out of his manacles, but the kid was swaying on his feet, his long, teenage frame nothing but skin and bones and... Well, Hiran just hauled him over his shoulder. The escapee must have passed out sometime between then and when Hiran and Tara had stopped, hours later, to rest.

The two of them had commented on this as they had eaten a very filling dinner of snow. They had assumed both he and Finn would wake up at least by the following morning, but no luck.

After a breakfast of more snow, they had agreed to set off toward Eastwatch.

"It's where the Jarles will assume we're all going, of course," Tara had admitted, her cheeks already stained from exertion and cold, "but I don't think these two are going to make it if we don't get them somewhere warm soon."

Now, a morning later, Hiran wonders if she had privately included the two of them in this death assessment. He rather thinks she did—she's much better about this survivalist stuff than he is, and he'd probably come across as a bit of an idiot now if he voices any suspicion of their imminent deaths.

He glances over to see her searching the tree line once more. There are no animals here—no birds—and he knows it makes her feel blind. Probably lost too.

Well, she should feel so anyway, because they are definitely lost. They should have reached Eastwatch yesterday and Hiran has seen no reason for their situation to change today.

He wonders if he should be thinking about his regrets right now. He can't say he has many aside, of course, from coming on this stupid mission, but this really isn't something he could have foreseen, nor is it something he would have believed if he had been told about it.

"I've got two Smith-callers on my team," he would have said with a laugh. "I'll be fine."

Hm.

Hiran now wonders if Tara has any regrets. He glances over at her again, at the piece of blond hair that falls out of her frizzed and frayed ponytail, curving along the side of her tanned, slim face. She doesn't strike him as the type that does regrets—he imagines her simply getting up and brushing herself off after a mistake, shrugging in that easy, effortless way of hers, as if to say: "Oh well. Onward."

He likes that, and he decides that if he has to freeze to death with anyone, he's glad it's her. He won't spend his final moments listening to sniveling.

He will, however, probably spend them fruitlessly dragging himself forward as she continues to march down the hill. Tenacious is something that also seems inherent to her. There's a funny joke there, a rhyme or pairing with her name that would spark that amusing look of annoyance on her face, but with his body and mind running on crystalized water, he's not up for making the connections.

He glances back at the other kid as he's peering over, but Finn looks as dead to the world as when they had scooped him up from the cafeteria floor. Tara and Fae had tried to shake him awake, but then Fae had run over to help Caj and Hiran had stood up to protect Tara as she hauled him up in her arms. Hiran remembers sprinting as the floor collapsed and he wonders, again, if Caj and Fae are dead. They're probably dead.

It occurs to him that there's a very high chance that this mission will have a survival rate of exactly zero percent and there's something about that which amuses him.

Maybe I will be put into the songs after all, he muses, hoisting Unnamed Body Bag further up on his shoulder. One of the doomed seven, disappearing into the darkness.

Granted, in the likely event that the Jarles take over everything no one will be singing anything.

He glances up at the sky, squinting at the suns that should be warmer, which have always shone so brightly on him, and he frowns at a small shadow.

"Tar," he rasps, stopping in his tracks. "Tar, what's that?"

He points a finger up at it and she stops too, turning her face up toward the suns, eyes narrowing against their glare.

"Is that a bird?" he asks, determinately ignoring the small swoop in his chest.

"I..." her breath stops as her eyes narrow. "I don't... but I can't sense it."

"Is it too far away?" he asks, but it's getting larger—getting closer—and he holds his arm over his eyes, shielding them to get a better look.

"That's not an animal," she murmurs suddenly. "That's a machine."

"A what?" he demands, but she's right—it is some kind of man-made thing, huge and weirdly shaped, like a simplistic rune of a fish or something. Huge doesn't quite encompass it though as it rapidly comes closer: the thing is the size of a ship—larger even, but surely this cannot be real: it is in the air.

"How is it flying?" Tara asks.

"Who's flying it?" Hiran rejoins, dumping Unnamed Body Bag on the ground with an unceremonious thump. "And can they see us?"

He meets Tara's gaze before he throws his hands out and up, watching as the shower of melting snow punches up into the sky.

Under the belly of the thing seems to be some small box or structure of some sort, and Hiran sees the faint shadow of an arm point out at the jet of water.

"Do it again," Tara says, excitement creeping into her tone. "Shoot more up."

He glances back and he's going to point out that it could be the Jarles, that drawing them over here would only mean fire and death, but then again, they are going to die out here anyway. This way, at least, would be quick.

He does it again and the thing turns directly at them now, and its shadow passes over as it hovers above, a looming, whale of a thing.

A coil of rope falls down, then the tiny specks of three bodies slide down, and their uniforms are not black and blue when they hit the ground, but red and gold. Hiran doesn't bother to hide his shock when General Grismen's boots clunk into the snow and the grizzled old man pauses to take them in.

"Signal for a ladder," he orders and he eyes the body on the ground. Seeing Hiran still gaping at him, he then asks:

"Son, how you like a chance to fly?"

A/N: Now we're starting to justify my "steampunk" tag. Another new POV this week with Hiran, who definitely did not imagine things turning out this way. We've also got a first look at him in the header art and he's smizing because even at the brink of starvation he still knows he's pretty.