Using great care, Rutledge scrambled down to the horse, and laid a gloved hand on its hide. Dead. Still warm… but already cooling.

He slipped and nearly lost his footing as he reached the overturned carriage and shone the torch beyond its upturned side.

It was then he saw the woman's form, curled into a knot on the ground, her back pressed against the seat.

She responded so lethargically to the glare of his torch that he thought at first she must be dying, then as she stirred, he realized she was alive but very likely badly injured.

When she tried to turn her head to look up at him, he could hear a soft mew, of pain and pleading.

He moved around the footboard of the carriage, careful not to disturb her body, and came to kneel beside her.

“Can you tell me where you hurt?”

She lifted a white face to him, her eyes so dark they seemed sunken in the sockets. “I-” She was shivering violently and could hardly speak, her teeth clicking together involuntarily. “Ribs,” she said, after a moment, “I th-think-ribs. But my f-feet are numb-”

She'd used the blanket to wrap herself, and the seat of the carriage offered some protection from the wind, but she was very, very cold, rigid with it.

Rutledge reached down to touch the hand pressed to her side, and it felt icy through his glove. The woman shook her head, as if afraid he was going to lift her.

“I must get you out of here. Do you understand me? If you stay where you are, you won't live through the night!”

“Please- no -!”

With the snow deep enough and treacherous enough to make carrying her nearly impossible, he said, “There's nothing for miles-no house, no barn. There's no help.” He could feel the wind sucking at his breath, as it had sucked at her will.

“No-I must- I must -” She shook her head again, as if her mind refused to work clearly and tell her what it was she must do.