Silas glanced at Buck. The horse snorted steam into the frigid air, eyes alert. Even Buck seemed to understand: this was no ordinary decision. One choice now, one action, could mean life—or death—for these children.
The wind screamed around them, and Silas felt the weight of it in his bones. He had no family left. No one waiting at the cabin but the cold and the empty. Yet something inside him—old guilt, old loyalty, the stubborn spark that had kept him alive through worse than this—told him he couldn’t leave them.
He reached into his coat, pulling out the small wool blanket he’d meant to use for himself. “All right,” he said softly, voice low and steady. “I’m gonna do right by you kids, whether you like it or not.”
For a heartbeat, the blizzard held its breath with him.
Then the girl lowered the knife. Just a hair, just enough for him to step closer.
Silas knelt and gently lifted the smallest child, cradling him against the warmth of his chest. The baby coughed, a small rasp that made Silas’s gut twist. He wrapped the wool around the tiny body, murmuring words that were more prayer than anything else.
The oldest girl’s knife hand trembled. She wanted to strike, he knew—but she didn’t. Not yet. She was testing him, still, measuring whether he was danger or salvation.
Silas glanced back at the wagon, at the snow that would swallow them whole if they didn’t move. “We’re going home,” he said, not a question. Not a suggestion. “If you want to live, you’re coming with me.”
The girl’s jaw set, eyes fierce and wary. “And if we don’t?”
Silas stood, shifting the baby in his arms, and leveled a steady gaze. “Then we die here.”
