The biting wind whipped against Helen, slithering beneath her clothes like a cold snake. Her thin little nightgown felt no thicker than paper, and her skin pricked with needle-like stings of cold.
She hugged her arms tightly, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Seeing her shivering, Ed-Bear took off his heavy wrap-around coat and handed it over. “If you don’t mind the dirt, please take this.”
“But…” Helen’s voice trembled with a hint of a sob. “Won’t you be cold?”
Ed-Bear shook his head and said indifferently, “I am a cold-blooded animal.”
In the faint light reflecting off the river, his broad, flat torso and elongated limbs formed a stark, unsettling silhouette.
Ed-Bear stood at the bow, his long oar gripped firmly. Whenever he spotted large, water-worn stones protruding from the surface, he adjusted his course in advance, steering the raft around the hazards.
Behind him, the coat was far too large for the little girl. It was like a thick bedsheet; once she put it on, it took a long while for her small head to poke out from the collar. She braced the heavy fabric against her shoulders and pulled the hem inward, sealing out the drafts to trap her body heat.
Under the warmth of the candle’s glow, the little girl’s temperature slowly began to rise. She felt toasty, like a little chicken leg being heated under an incandescent bulb.
Even when a strong gust of wind blew past, the candle flame remained perfectly upright. It was as if what it released through burning wasn’t mere fire, but a form of pure, incorruptible light.
“So magical… a candle that never goes out…”
Helen stared at the flame, her eyes blinking slowly as fatigue and exhaustion suddenly flooded her mind. She collapsed onto the raft as if she had fainted, burying her head in the coat and closing her eyes, intending to rest for just a moment.
Soon, the sound of rhythmic, shallow breathing drifted from inside the coat.
In the past, if she were hungry, dirty, wearing a nightgown stained with mud and blood, and lying in a dusty coat, Helen would never have been able to sleep. Now, however, she felt a profound sense of comfort.
But the heavens were not kind. An hour later, thick clouds began to roll in, the lunar halo grew turbid, and the wind intensified with every passing second. Rain was imminent.
Ed-Bear caught the scent of heavy moisture in the air. He made a snap decision and rowed the raft toward the shore as fast as he could.
Helen woke up from the jolting impact of the raft hitting the bank. The cold wind chased away her sleepiness, leaving behind a dull ache in her head that felt like a hangover.
“Is it going to rain?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Yes.”
Ed-Bear no longer bothered to hide his nature. He spread his arms, and they fissured into dozens of writhing tentacles. They swept out toward every usable material nearby—branches, bark, stones—dragging them back and piling them into a makeshift shack.
To increase the hut’s structural integrity, he secreted a protein-rich mucus that acted as an adhesive, binding the scattered materials together to prevent the wind from blowing the shelter apart.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t find any suitable containers; otherwise, he could have collected the rainwater.
Helen didn’t show much resistance toward the tentacles. She mimicked Ed-Bear’s movements, wiggling her own little fingers, wondering why her hands couldn’t split apart. She watched the blood-red tentacles coil around branches and rocks to build the shelter with a strange sense of envy.
Just as the shack was completed, the rain began to fall, pattering loudly against the roof made of leaves, bark, and schist.
Helen crouched on the ground, clutching the hem of the coat tightly, terrified that the wet mud would soil her benefactor’s garment.
Ed-Bear crouched beside her. The shack was too low for him; if he raised his head even slightly, he would hit the ceiling. He didn’t complain about the sudden storm, and naturally, he didn’t have much to say. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“It hasn’t been easy, has it?”
“Mm…” Helen responded feebly.
Though she wasn’t being rained on, she felt miserable all over. She had already caught a chill while being dragged through the wilderness by the cultists. Now, the illness was manifesting in a persistent cough and body aches, while her mental exhaustion translated into a splitting headache.
“Sleep for a while.” Ed-Bear reached out his hand to her.
Helen didn’t even have the strength to answer. A sense of vertigo swirled inside her skull, her ears rang, and white flashes flickered before her eyes. The moment she leaned into the crook of Ed-Bear’s arm, she fell into a deep, unconscious stupor.
Ed-Bear held her, crouching motionless and silent.
The rain poured relentlessly onto the roof, a rhythmic thundering. Water streamed off the edges like miniature waterfalls, splashing against the ground and kicking up cold, fine droplets.
Malice lurked in the surroundings. The darkness coiled and twisted, crawling and probing at the edge of the light like a venomous snake trying to find a way inside.
Helen was like a piece of glowing gold, attracting the gaze of countless hidden eyes. Her fresh flesh, smelling faintly of milk, made the hidden horrors restless and hungry.
