"I thought I'd lost you." Rachel huddled next to Sam in the darkness. She could feel him shaking.
"I'm cold. Make a fire."
"Won't they see it? When I turned around, and couldn't find you, I thought. . ."
Sam ran his hand over Rachel's damp hair. "They won't see it, Rachel. They're not chasing us any more." He shuddered again. "Is there any wood? I'm so cold."
Rachel felt around beside the stone fireplace. "There are a few sticks, Sam. It won't be much."
"I don't care," Sam whispered. "I just want some warmth, some light."
Rachel sat back. "Are you sure they're not after us?"
Sam coughed. "I know they're not."
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
Rachel felt around inside her pack. She found her lighter, and an empty cigarette box. She carefully twisted the paper so that it wouldn't burn too quickly, then placed the sticks on top of the twists. The flames sputtered in the damp air. Slowly, slowly, the fire took form.
A shrill cry shattered the stillness.
"What if that's them?" Rachel asked, huddling against Sam. He'd stopped shaking.
"No," Sam said. He slid his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her tightly. "It's not them."
Rachel rested her head in the crook on his neck. "I'm glad you're here, Sam. I really thought I'd lost you."
He continued to squeeze her, his eyes, once blue, now yellow and feline in the firelight.
"Don't worry, Rachel," he purred, "I won't let you get away."