Safe for Now

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the forest into deep shadows. The cave's entrance was nestled between two towering cliffs, obscured from view by thick underbrush and the twisted roots of ancient trees. The path leading to it had been steep and uneven, each step a grueling effort as I battled the fatigue weighing down my limbs.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I guided James into the cave’s mouth. His steps faltered, his weight pressing heavily against me as I wrapped my arm tightly around his waist. The fading light and plunging temperature conspired against us, the evening air slicing through our soaked clothes and forcing shivers to wrack our bodies.

Inside the cave, darkness enveloped us, but I could just make out the faint outlines of rocky walls and the uneven floor. The space was cramped, barely large enough for the two of us, but it was dry. A refuge from the elements. That was all that mattered.

With a soft grunt of effort, I eased James down onto the cave floor, propping him against the wall. He let out a low groan, his hand instinctively moving to his side, where blood-soaked bandages clung to his skin. His face was pale, and his eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion.

I knelt beside him, my heart aching as I assessed his condition. He was in worse shape than I had allowed myself to admit during our desperate journey. The wound in his side had reopened during the crossing, bleeding heavily despite the bandages that struggled to contain it.


“James, I need to tend to your wound.”


He nodded weakly, his breath labored.

“Do what you must, Isabella.”
“I trust you.”

My hands trembled slightly as I unwrapped the makeshift bandages from his side. The wound was deep—a jagged tear from the battle with the bandits, swollen and angry, the edges inflamed, blood oozing dark and sluggish.

My stomach churned at the sight, but I forced myself to remain calm. I had to focus, had to push aside my fear and do what needed to be done. With swift movements, I cleaned the wound with the little water we had left before applying a fresh layer of salve to stave off infection. The cave was silent except for the sound of James’s ragged breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as I worked.

Tearing strips from my cloak, I fashioned new bandages to wrap around his torso, binding the wound as tightly as I could without causing him more pain. My fingers brushed against his skin, cold and clammy to the touch. He was feverish; I could tell that the infection had already taken hold.

“We need to bring down your fever,” I said, searching through the small box of medical supplies James had managed to gather.


I found a bundle of herbs and crushed the leaves between my fingers, releasing their potent scent before placing them in his mouth.

“Chew these,” I instructed.
“They will help with the pain and reduce the fever.”

James obeyed without protest; his eyes half-closed as he chewed the bitter leaves. My heart ached as I watched him, feeling the toll the journey had taken. He was strong, but even the strongest could only endure so much.

With his wound tended to, I set about making the cave as comfortable as possible. I gathered the few dry branches I had managed to collect and, with some difficulty, started a small fire near the entrance. The flickering flames cast a warm glow over the stone walls, pushing back the darkness and offering a small measure of comfort.

I removed my wet cloak and spread it out to dry near the fire, then draped our last remaining blanket over James, tucking it around him to keep him warm. Exhaustion crept into my bones, my muscles aching from the strain of the day, but I pushed it aside. James needed me, and I wouldn’t rest until I was certain he was safe.

I settled beside him, my back against the cave wall, my eyes never leaving his face. The fire crackled softly, its warmth seeping into my skin as I watched over him, my hand resting lightly on his arm. James’s breathing had evened out; the herbs were working, but he was still far from well.

I gently brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead. James’s hand found mine, his grip weak yet comforting. I squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his touch. The fire dwindled to glowing embers, casting a soft, flickering light across the stone walls.

The night outside deepened into silence, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl. I sat beside James, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. Sleep eluded me. The steady rhythm of his breathing reassured me that, for now, he was resting peacefully. Another worry gnawed at me; one I could no longer ignore.

With a quiet sigh, I shifted away from James, careful not to disturb him. I pulled the blanket more securely around his shoulders before turning my attention to myself. The journey had been brutal for us both, but I knew I had to check—had to be sure that the life growing inside me had not been harmed by the trials of the day.

I glanced at James, his face relaxed in sleep, then gently laid a hand on my abdomen. The gesture was instinctual and protective. A wave of apprehension washed over me as I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation beneath my fingertips. I pressed gently against the slight curve of my belly, searching for any sign, any movement that might tell me the baby was still safe.

For a moment, there was only the faint sound of the fire crackling and the whisper of the wind outside the cave. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited, fear creeping into my thoughts. Had I pushed myself too hard? Had the cold, the exhaustion, the stress—had it all been too much?

Then, as if in answer to my silent plea, I felt it—a small, fluttering movement beneath my hand. It was faint, barely there, but unmistakable. A tiny shift, a reassurance from the life within me that it was still there, still strong.

I let out a shaky breath, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Relief flooded through me, overwhelming in its intensity. I had not realized just how afraid I had been until that moment, how desperately I had needed this reassurance.

I leaned back against the wall, my hand still resting protectively over my abdomen. The baby was alright. We had made it through the river, through the cold, through everything, and my child was still safe. I closed my eyes, a tear slipping down my cheek as I whispered a quiet prayer of thanks.