Chapter 25: The Last Water
The three continued along the mountain path, higher now where the air itself felt thinner.
The climb had become slower. Much slower. The snow here was not deep, but the path was ice-covered rock, and each step had to be tested before weight was put.
Danny’s legs were tired to the point of numbness, and his throat was dry, cracked and painful every time he swallowed. The cold wind that came down from the peak made every breath painful, like inhaling glass dust.
The thin prisoner suddenly stopped, leaning against the mountain wall.
He pulled out his water sack, a dirty leather pouch, and shook it near his ear.
Nothing. No slosh.
He frowned and shook harder, then squeezed.
"I’m running low on water." He turned it upside down. A few drops came out and froze on the rock.
The grey-haired man looked back at him, annoyed. He was conserving his own breath.
"Then drink what’s left."
The thin prisoner stared at him as if he had said something stupid.
"What?"
"If you’re thirsty, drink your water. That’s what it’s for."
The thin prisoner hesitated, holding the sack like it was gold, licking his dry lips.
"But if I drink it now, I might need it later. If we don’t find more snow to melt..."
The grey-haired man looked ahead at the white ridge, not sympathetic. "Keeping water won’t help if you’re too thirsty to continue walking and you fall off this mountain. Drink."
The thin prisoner sighed, defeated, and tipped the sack up, taking a tiny, careful drink. He swallowed slowly, making a show of it, eyes closed.
Danny watched him from behind, saying nothing.
The grey-haired man looked around at the cliffs. The wind was getting worse, and the sky was darkening again, clouds gathering over the peak. They needed a flat spot.
"We should find somewhere to rest. A ledge, a cave. Even ten minutes. We’re burning too much."
Danny glanced at the mountains around them, white and grey and endless. The wind was still cold, biting through even the dead man’s thick coat.
"Shouldn’t we light a fire?" the thin prisoner asked, teeth chattering now. "We could melt snow for water."
The grey-haired man immediately shook his head, sharp.
"No."
"Why? We’re freezing."
"We could attract monsters. Smoke on a mountain can be seen for miles. Smell for more. You want to call that alpha down here?"
The thin prisoner looked around nervously, remembering the growl from far behind them last night.
"But we might not have a choice. We’ll die of thirst before we die of wolves."
The grey-haired man remained silent for a moment, thinking. He knew the prisoner was not entirely wrong. Dehydration in cold kills faster than cold itself.
"We’ll find shelter first. Then we melt snow without fire, with body heat if we have to. No flame."
Danny listened quietly, his own mouth feeling like sandpaper. He had not drunk since morning.
He reached for his own water sack, tied to his belt, smaller than the others but still half-full because he had been sipping less than them. There wasn’t much left. Maybe three, four mouthfuls.
He lifted it and took a small, small drink. Just enough to wet his throat.
The water felt cold, painfully cold against his throat, but it was life. He closed his eyes for a second in relief.
The thin prisoner noticed the movement. His eyes locked onto Danny’s sack.
He looked at Danny’s sack. Then at Danny. The dryness made him bold.
"Give me some."
Danny stopped walking. His hand froze mid-tie.
The thin prisoner stepped closer on the narrow path, too close, his breath smelling sour.
"Just a little. Just a sip. You have more than me."
Danny stared at him, saying nothing. His face, usually scared, was blank.
He didn’t answer.
"Come on, kid. We’re all in this together. We shared the rope in the storm, remember? We survived together."
Danny’s eyes narrowed.
_Together?_
He remembered the day the eyeless wolf pack appeared in the snow forest. The thin prisoner had refused to become bait and had shoved Danny forward, shouting "use the cursed boy!"
He remembered everything that had happened before that. These people had captured him after his village burned. They had chained his wrists. They had discussed in front of him how much gold a DoD boy would fetch at the outpost, how the nobles pay extra for cursed blood.
And now this man wanted his water, his life, because he had been careless and drank his own too fast.
Danny slowly tightened his grip around his sack, knuckles white over the bloody wraps.
The thin prisoner waited, hand outstretched, expecting obedience.
Danny didn’t say a word. He simply stared at him, cold. His eyes, dark and tired, said enough. More than words.
No.
The thin prisoner frowned, his face twisting. The rejection, from a kid he saw as property, enraged him.
"You little— you selfish little curse—" He raised a hand as if to grab it.
Danny turned away sharply, stepped past him toward the grey-haired man, and took another small drink deliberately, keeping his back to him.
The thin prisoner looked at the grey-haired man, looking for backup, for authority.
"He’s refusing to share. We said we share supplies!"
The grey-haired man glanced at Danny, then at the thin prisoner, then continued walking, not interested in playing judge for water.
"He doesn’t have to. It’s his. You drank yours fast. He didn’t. That’s not his fault."
The thin prisoner looked annoyed, humiliated, his face red from cold and anger. "So we just let the kid hoard while we die?"
The grey-haired man continued walking, voice flat. "Save your strength. Arguing burns water faster than walking. We still have a long way to go. When we find shelter, we’ll all melt snow."
The thin prisoner reluctantly followed, muttering curses under his breath at Danny’s back, staring at that water sack like a starving dog.
Danny stayed behind for a moment, alone on the path.
He looked at the small amount of water remaining in his sack, feeling the weight of it. Every drop mattered now. One sip could be the difference between reaching the ridge or collapsing.
He tied it tightly, double-knotted it, and tucked it inside his coat where it wouldn’t freeze and where no one could grab it easily.
Then he continued walking, eyes forward.
None of them noticed the movement far behind them, two switchbacks down the mountain, where the wind had briefly cleared.
Something dark moved between the rocks, low and fast, sniffing the exact spot where the thin prisoner had spilled his last few drops of water on the stone.
Something was following their scent - sweat, blood, and now water.
And it was getting closer, climbing faster now that it smelled them above.