Dalton’s stomach tightened.
Not one.
Many.
The sound faded again, but that didn’t matter.
They were out there.
Somewhere.
He pointed toward the cabin.
No response.
The wounded woman shivered harder, her body beginning to fail.
Dalton made a decision.
He set the rifle down.
Raised both hands.
“I’m not asking you to trust me,” he said quietly. “I’m asking you to trust that you won’t survive out here.”
Then he turned his back on them.
And walked into the cabin.
Leaving the door open.
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t wait.
He just went inside and fed the fire.
Flames rose.
Heat filled the room, spilling out through the open doorway into the freezing air.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Careful.
Dalton didn’t turn.
Didn’t reach for the rifle.
He just sat there, hands resting on his knees, staring into the fire.
The women entered.
They stayed near the door.
Close enough to leave if they needed to.
Far enough not to trust him.
They shared the blanket.
The standing one spoke first.
“You stay where I can see you.”
Dalton nodded. “Fair.”
He handed them water.
Clean cloth.
Let them take it on their own terms.
When she asked him why, his answer came without thinking.
“Because no one else will.”
She didn’t respond.
But something in her eyes shifted.
Later, as the fire burned lower and the night stretched on, she finally spoke again.
“My name is Kimla,” she said.
She nodded toward the other woman.
“Aayasha.”
Dalton inclined his head slightly.
“Mason,” he said, then corrected himself with a faint breath. “Dalton.”
Names mattered.
Out here, they were the only thing that proved you were still human.
Then the drums came.
Low.
Distant.
But clear.
Kimla’s expression changed.
“My father is coming,” she said.
Dalton didn’t need to ask.
“How many?”
She looked at him.
“Enough.”
The night didn’t end.
It just… held.
Tight.
Heavy.
Waiting.
At dawn, the valley filled with movement.
Riders.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
Three hundred, maybe more.
They spread across the hills like a storm that had taken shape.
Dalton stepped onto the porch.
No coat.
No weapon.
Just himself.
Kimla and Aayasha stood behind him.
Then beside him.
Not hiding.
Not running.
Together.
The riders parted.
And one man stepped forward.
Nyatti.
He dismounted slowly, his presence alone enough to quiet everything.
His eyes moved across the scene.
The open cabin.
The fire.
The blanket wrapped around his daughters.
The clean bandage.
The unarmed man standing in front of him.
“You live here,” Nyatti said.
Not a question.
Dalton nodded.
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
Three hundred warriors watching.
Waiting.
Judging.
Nyatti stepped closer.
Close enough now to see every detail.
“You took them in.”
Dalton didn’t hesitate.
“They would’ve died out there.”
A long pause.
The kind that decides things.
Kimla stepped forward slightly.
“He did not harm us,” she said. “He gave us warmth. Water. Time.”
Nyatti’s gaze shifted to her.
Then back to Dalton.
“You had one blanket,” he said quietly.
