The night folded itself around the cabin like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Ink-black sky. Trees swaying like dark silhouettes whispering secrets only the wind understood. Somewhere in the distance, a lonely howl dragged itself across the forest, long and mournful, like the cry of something half-starved.
Inside, the tiny lantern Ababeel had found flickered, throwing small trembling patches of amber light across the cracked wooden walls. Shadows pulsed and crawled, stretching and shrinking with every quiver of the flame.
Habeel lay on the narrow bed — or what passed for one — his body curled slightly as if trying to hide from the pain burning through him. Sweat coated his forehead, glistening under the lantern's glow. His breath came in broken, uneven waves. Every few moments, he tossed weakly, lost in whatever fever dream gripped him.
Ababeel sat beside him, perched on an old wooden chair whose legs creaked under the slightest shift. Her jacket hung loosely around her shoulders, wrapped like armour she couldn't afford to remove. Her eyes were sharp despite exhaustion, locked onto him as though watching the tremor of his breath was a task she couldn't look away from.
The fever crept in slowly at first — a soft rise of heat against her palm, the way his eyelashes trembled, the restless mumbles threading through his lips.
Then it quickened.
Habeel stirred, his head rolling to the side.
"Ababeel…" His voice was slurred, barely a breath. "…the tree… it had three heads… tell it… tell it to stop judging me…"
She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
"Oh, wonderful," she muttered. "Hallucinations. Because tonight wasn't stressful enough."
He tried to push himself upward, his arm trembling as it attempted the impossible.
"Water… or juice…" he mumbled. "Or… maybe a new arm…"
She pressed him firmly back into the blanket."Lie down. You're burning up."
Her hand brushed his forehead again. His skin felt like it could ignite.
He flinched, but he didn't pull away.
Outside, the wind unleashed another howl — louder, angrier, as if something in the forest had awakened.
A sharp crack echoed through the dark.
Ababeel's head snapped toward the door, the muscles along her spine tightening.
"Please," she whispered into the stillness, "let that be a deer. Or a squirrel. Or a very, very fat rabbit."
Habeel exhaled faintly."A fat rabbit sounds delicious…"
"Can you stop thinking about food for one night?"
Another sound came — this one deliberate.
Scratching.
Slow, dragging, like claws or fingers tracing the outer wall of the cabin.
Her pulse shot up.
She rose silently, fingers curling around the wooden bat she had pulled from Habeel's bag earlier. She stepped between him and the door, shielding him without thinking.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Behind her, Habeel tried to sit again, his voice slurred with confusion."Ababeel… why are you two…? Stop multiplying… my head hurts…"
"You have a fever," she whispered harshly. "Lie still."
"Are we dead yet…?"
"No."
"Okay… good… then tell the monsters outside to come back in the morning…"
She shot him a glare so sharp it could've cut wood.
The scratching grew louder.
A single, heavy THUNK hit the cabin wall. Ababeel jumped despite herself, her fingers tightening around the bat until her knuckles whitened.
"That," she breathed, "was NOT a rabbit."
She crept toward the tiny window, peering through a warped fracture in the wood.
Nothing but blackness.
Then—A shadow moved.Large.Slow.
Her breath caught.
Behind her, Habeel muttered, "If it's a ghost… tell it I'm allergic…"
She wanted to throttle him. Instead, she just tucked the blanket more securely around his shoulders, her fingers brushing his cheek with unexpected gentleness.
He sighed, drifting into another restless pocket of sleep.
Ababeel resumed her position beside him, her chair angled toward both him and the door, her senses stretched thin over the silence.
Every few minutes, she reached out, brushing her palm against his forehead. The heat still burned. She soaked a cloth in a dented metal bowl, wrung it out, and placed it on his skin. His breath softened marginally, his lashes fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird.
She watched him — this reckless, infuriating man who had bled, fought, and somehow survived beside her.
"Don't you dare die on me," she whispered, her voice barely more than breath. "Not now. Not after all of this."
His eyes cracked open, unfocused and bleary. But he heard her.
"I'm not dying," he whispered, his words dissolving into a sleepy slur. "I still have to annoy you tomorrow…"
A faint smile tugged at her lips despite everything.
Then—
Another noise.Not scrapin g.Not claws.
Footsteps.
Heavy ones.
Slow… deliberate… like someone walking with purpose.
Ababeel stiffened, rising again, the bat steady in her hands.
"If that's soldiers…" she breathed, "we're finished."
The shadow outside halted.
As if listening.
Habeel sensed her fear even through the fog of fever; his fingers twitched toward her direction.
"Ababeel…?" he murmured weakly. "What's happening…?"
She didn't look back.
"Stay quiet."
For a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, without warning, the shadow moved again — not toward the door, but away from it. Its footsteps faded into the vast, endless dark.
Only when the last sound dissolved did Ababeel allow herself to exhale. Her knees almost buckled with relief as she sank back onto the chair.
Habeel drifted into uneasy sleep.
She stayed awake, guarding him, guarding their fragile piece of safety, her eyes wide and alert until the edges of night softened, and the first pale hint of dawn slipped gently through the broken window.