Deborah's POV
When I woke, I felt weak and drained. I barely managed to open my eyes and realized I was slumped over Matthew's back.
The group had already resumed its journey, heading towards a withered forest.
Everyone was hungry and thirsty, and it was clear that Matthew had decided to lead us toward that forest in search of hope.
This place hadn't been part of our original plan, but with the complete destruction of the city ruins, we had no other choice for supplies.
I tried to recall the forest's appearance.
What struck us most about it was its unpredictability.
Though the temperature shifted drastically, we had once seen small animals there, with no obvious signs of mutation.
We had hunted a seemingly normal rabbit and eaten it without any ill effects.
The stream in the forest was a water source for the animals, and we assumed the water there was still safe.
However, the weather in the forest changed so quickly, with temperature swings happening in just minutes, making it hard to predict.
That was why we hadn't initially chosen it as a supply point.
The surroundings were blurry and dim.
I could see other werewolves dragging their injured comrades, struggling to keep up with the group.
The injured werewolves lay on makeshift stretchers fashioned from clothing, blankets, and torn fabric, their bodies swaying with each step.
The fabric of the stretchers was soaked in blood, the dark red stains spreading—a horrifying sight.
The werewolves walking ahead took steady strides, but their exhaustion was evident.
Their brows were furrowed, faces full of pain and helplessness.
Despite their immense strength, the battle from the previous night had taken a toll, and the grief in their eyes was undeniable—the loss of their comrades had wounded them deeply.
Each step felt like it tore at their hearts.
The injured werewolves were covered in large areas of decayed, festering wounds, the marks of corrosion deep and grotesque, as though their flesh had been burned away, exposing raw muscle.
Their faces twisted in pain, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched as they tried to suppress their groans.
But now and then, low moans escaped from their throats.
Every jolt of the stretcher seemed to tear open their wounds, yet their willpower remained strong, determined not to burden others.
The werewolves carrying the stretchers had trembling arms, fatigue spreading through their bodies, but they pushed on, gritting their teeth with each step.
The air was thick with the scent of blood, mingling with the sweat dripping from their bodies.
Each step was heavy, each movement a tribute to their fallen comrades.
Matthew must have felt me stir on his back because he softly asked, "You're awake? Feeling any better?" His voice was laced with concern.
I tried to speak, my voice hoarse. "How… how are the others? Did anyone…?"
I couldn't bring myself to say "die," a wave of unease washed over me.
Matthew sighed and answered succinctly, "We lost nine werewolves and have twenty-seven injured. One FDB soldier was hurt. Three normal people from Tirnanog died, but thanks to the werewolves and soldiers, no one else was fatally injured."
I closed my eyes, bitterness filling my heart.
The loss of the werewolves was devastating.
If they hadn't been sealed, things wouldn't be this bad.
I felt guilty—when would I finally figure out how to break their seal?
I weakly asked, "Where did you find me?"
Matthew's voice was steady as he replied, "You didn't come back last night. I waited until dawn, but when you didn't show up, I went out to look for you and found you in the wilderness."
I let out a soft sigh.
Matthew's voice suddenly turned serious. "What you did yesterday was too dangerous! From now on, I have to stay by your side."
"OK…" I whispered, though even speaking felt like an effort.
Matthew's tone softened. "I'm just glad you're safe."
There was a slight tremor in his voice, mixed with a tenderness that made me feel the worry and urgency he must have felt.
Even though I couldn't see his face, I could sense his deep concern.
We fell into silence.
I closed my eyes, knowing I needed to regain my strength quickly.
Though Murias was under the protection of werewolves and the FDB soldiers, I was the only witch, and I knew I had a critical role to play when the time came.
I drifted off again while lying on Matthew's back.
I slowly opened my eyes, and everything around me was pure white.
A thick blanket was wrapped around me, but even on Matthew's back, the cold still bit into my bones.
Snowflakes fell heavily from the sky, and the icy air made me shiver.
"Are we already in the withered forest?" I murmured softly to myself, feeling a bit disoriented by the surrounding sight.
"You're awake?" Matthew's voice came from behind, filled with concern. "Feeling better?"
I nodded and answered, "Yes, much better."
Matthew explained, "We're heading to the stream we found earlier. It's relatively safe, and we didn't encounter any mutated creatures last time."
I nodded again, pressing my face into his back, hoping his body heat would warm me.
Before long, we arrived at the stream where we had camped before.
Night had already fallen, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Luckily, the snow had stopped.
The forest was full of dead branches, plenty for us to build a fire and keep warm.
Even in this bitter cold, having a warm fire felt like an immense blessing.
The FDB soldiers quickly gathered branches while the werewolves spread out into the night, searching for prey.
The werewolves' night vision was exceptional, allowing them to easily spot small, fast-moving animals even in such harsh conditions.
Soon, they returned with plenty of game—rabbits, birds I didn't recognize, and even numerous insects.
A fire pit was swiftly built, and the game was set to roast over the flames.
The firelight illuminated everyone's faces, weary but filled with a brief sense of warmth and peace.
The regular people sat around the fire, marveling at the animals they'd only read about in books, now roasting and filling the air with a mouthwatering aroma.
I sat by the fire, barely able to sit up on my own, still weak.
Matthew went to check on the injured werewolves and soon returned.
"How are they?" I asked.
Matthew's expression darkened. "Not good. Their healing abilities aren't working."
"Is it like when you were shot last time?" I could tell from his eyes that he understood what I meant.
He didn't answer immediately, just remained silent.
"My blood can heal them," I said directly.
Matthew immediately opposed, "No."
"Even if it can't fully heal them, it'll help them recover faster," I insisted.
"I won't allow it. You're too weak right now." Matthew's voice was firm, but his eyes showed helplessness and pain.
I didn't say anything more and quickly pulled out a small knife from my pocket.
Without hesitation, I slashed my palm. Blood immediately began to pour from the wound, and I grabbed a small cup hanging from my backpack, letting the blood slowly drip into it.
Matthew tried to stop me, but I spoke softly, "Don't let my blood go to waste."
His face showed conflict and frustration. He clearly didn't want to see me like this, but he couldn't stop me either.
I listened to the sound of the blood dripping into the cup. Slowly, the cup filled.
I moved my hand away and pressed my palm tightly against the fabric of my clothing, trying to stop the bleeding.
The pain made me wince, but I forced a small, bitter smile.
"Take the 'medicine' to them," I said, handing the cup to him.
Matthew sighed and pulled out a first aid kit, carefully wrapping my hand.
He didn't say a word, silently taking the cup and carrying it over to the injured werewolves, making sure not to spill a drop.
I felt the wound on my hand throbbing, and every second of waiting felt endless.
Soon, everyone gathered around the fire to feast on the small animals the werewolves had caught.
They all ate heartily, and almost everyone marveled at the deliciousness of the meal, something they had never experienced before.
Snow that had been packed into small cups melted into water thanks to the warmth of the fire, and everyone drank deeply, filling themselves with much-needed hydration. Every sip was filled with a rare sense of satisfaction.
The flickering firelight reflected on the faces of those around the campfire, tired but content.
The air was thick with the warm smell of roasted meat, and conversations began to hum softly.
Some talked about a brighter future, as if all the disasters were behind them.
But soon, the sky suddenly shifted.
A heavy fog rolled into the forest, like a giant net engulfing the world in a haze of white.
The snow began falling again, faster and heavier, until it smothered the flames of the fire.
Then, the wind howled, icy and merciless, tearing through the camp.
A blizzard had arrived.
Visibility dropped sharply, the landscape disappearing before our eyes, swallowed by the thick fog that clung to the air. It was suffocating, like the very breath in our lungs was freezing solid.
The wind lashed at our faces like knives, cutting through layers of thick clothing, biting straight to the bone.
Each gust brought a piercing cold, as if it sought to steal every ounce of warmth from our bodies.
"Whoosh—whoosh—" The wind roared, snuffing out the fire in an instant.
With the warm light gone, the cold hit us like a beast, sinking into every bone.
Stay calm, everyone!" Matthew's voice rang out in the darkness as he held me tightly, trying to shield me from the freezing wind with his body. "Wrap yourselves in blankets! Conserve your body heat! Keep the children warm! The visibility is too low to move. We'll wait out the storm before making any decisions!"
His voice was torn apart by the wind, but it still carried a firm strength.
The wind grew fiercer, pushing at us as if it wanted to knock us to the ground. Branches groaned and cracked under the force.
The children began to cry.
The cold made them shiver, and their fragile voices were filled with fear.
This was a hardship they had never faced in Murias.
Cora spoke up loudly, addressing the children, "Kids, don't cry! The werewolves will protect us! The weather in this forest changes quickly, and this storm will pass just as fast!"
Her voice was like a beacon of light, bringing some comfort in the chaos.
The children's crying gradually subsided, replaced by soft sniffles and murmured reassurances.
Matthew held me tightly in his arms, the thick blanket wrapped securely around my body.
I curled up against him, feeling as though all the sounds of the world were being kept at bay. The only reminder of the storm was the howling wind.
Cold washed over me like a rising tide, and my body grew numb. My mind began to blur with the cold.
I could only faintly feel Matthew's heartbeat and the way his arms clung tightly to me, as though he feared the storm would take me away.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the storm to pass.