Page 12 of Snowbound with the Santas

My next breath is surprisingly easy. My bodice must have broken in the fall, and I’m not entirely disappointed.

After a few breaths, I open my eyes again, and my heart immediately lurches at what’s above me.

Wood.

A wooden ceiling made of planks stretches above me from one side of the room to the other. As I stare up at them, I finally register the soft scents of wood and sap mixing with something else. Smoke, maybe?

I ease myself up onto one elbow and blink slowly, taking in my surroundings as calmly as I can.

I’m tucked up in a large bed, nestled under several quilts and blankets. Wooden furniture hugs the walls, a dresser to my left near a large window and a wardrobe to my right tucked into the corner. There’s an ornate wooden dressing table with a copper mirror, and a small, pale version of myself peers back at me when I look into it.

Orange curtains hug the window, and the door opposite is closed.

This… is not my room. In fact, I don’t think I saw any part of the ski lodge that looked like this.

Where am I?

Am I dead?

It feels foolish to contemplate such a thing, but my surroundings are so gentle and unfamiliar, and this bed is so cozy that it’s my only current explanation.

The thunking sound continues and seems to be coming from outside. I push myself up further, and pain consumes me.

My head throbs like a hammer is trying to break out of my skull, and a deep ache pulls painfully across my right thigh. It’s painful enough that nausea immediately floods my gut and my throat twitches. For a few seconds, I fear I’m about to puke.

The sensation passes, but the acidic burn lingers in my gut.

Gripping the covers, I throw them off my body, and my heart leaps up into my dry throat.

I’m mostly naked, aside from a checkered shirt that reaches my knees. My right thigh is covered in thick white bandages, and when I lift one hand to my head, my fingertips skim over tape. Another look in the mirror, and I can just make out a white patch on my forehead.

What the hell happened? Where the hell am I?

The longer I’m awake, the longer a sense of unease builds in my stomach. It takes me a moment to will down the rising urge to puke again. Then I slide to the edge of the bed and hop out. I need to get a better look at things.

However, as soon as I place my feet on the warm wooden floor and stand, pain and weakness pull through my right thigh and I immediately crash down with a squeal.

“Ow,” I gasp, quivering as the pain swells to sickening levels and then, slowly, starts to fade. I must have fucked up my leg in the crash, or when I fell. My thoughts are clouded, and recalling the crash in the snow is hazy at best.

I remember getting out of the car and I remember falling, but anything beyond that is a strange blur.

A chill steals down my spine, turning my arms and legs to gooseflesh as I slowly climb back to my feet. The pain in my right leg forces me to keep all my weight on my left, so reaching the window is challenging.

I’m out of breath by the time I grip the windowsill. Pushing the white netting aside, I peer through a slightly dusty window that shows its age with how the edges of the glass thicken near the wooden frame.

Looking out, the source of the noise makes itself known.

A man is out in a small clearing beyond the building, surrounded by towering fir and pine trees. He stands calf-deep in the snow, wearing dark blue jeans and a red plaid shirt that flaps lightly in a gentle breeze. He lifts his head and slides one large hand through thick brown hair. He squints upward into thesun, then drops his hand to rub through a full brown beard that covers his jaw.

Then he leans back, and a large axe comes into view. My heart skips a beat and I watch, transfixed, as he swings the large axe effortlessly through the air, then brings it down on a thick chunk of wood. The wood cleaves clean in two, and the pieces drown down onto the snow where several other chunks of wood lie.

That’s the sound. He’s cutting wood with an axe so sharp it glints in the sunlight.

“Fuck,” I whisper, fogging the window slightly with my breath. From here, it’s hard to make out any other details, but he looks incredible. He has a thick, hunky build and such strength that the large axe flies between his hands as easily as cutlery.

I’m stunned.

And then it hits me.

---