“Good girl,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. 

That Icarus would be accompanying them; Herbert was not best pleased about. There was something more than disconcerting about the silent, inked man. The way the woman spoke to him about the dragon; he was a dog on a leash, a simple being of singular pleasure and linear thought. Herbert just hoped they had him on a particularly tight chain, having witnessed the man’s proficiency first-hand. 

Snow and rock rumbled, and far above head the magnificent red beast reminded the mountain of its presence. 

It struck Herbert then that he did not know where Twain was, but also how dire a condition the lady was in; he could feel the fleeting strength in her movements now. He had lost sight of the others, but presumed they would have made it back to the tunnel relatively safely. He wasn’t so sure if they would be out looking for him yet, or even if they would notice his absence. Regardless, the woman had to be gotten to the castle, where it was warm, and there she could be treated. He remembered putting the acetaminophen in his pocket, and he’d do what he could for the wounds themselves. 

He drew the bottle from his pocket and emptied three pills onto his palm. “Take these,” he said, handing them to the woman, “it should help with the pain. “

Afterwards, as they made their way back to the sheer cliff-face, black and laced with veins of ice, the rumbling grew louder. Icarus followed as a silent sentry. Rainbow crystals were kicked up in their wake.

Finding the entrance to the tunnels was easy enough. The climb was long, and punctuated only by rumbling and the laborious breathing of the woman. At one point the ground shook so greatly and her feet gave way, but Herbert helped her back up. 

When they reached the antechamber below the altar room, Herbert heard voices, and wondered why the others would go back into that foul place. The fire was now down to dying embers, so Herbert propped the lady up against a wall nearby, and added an extra log to ward off the strength-sapping cold. 

Herbert offered a coat to the woman. “It’s important to stay warm, but try not to abrade the wound.” 

After she had shrugged it over a shoulder, he spent a few moments looking at the wound. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. 

“Where is this Twain of yours then?”