Page 5 of Yasmin and the Yeti
He moved swiftly across the snow, his white fur rendering him nearly invisible. Several smaller explosions followed the crash but they died away. The only sound was the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet and the distant howl of the wind as it picked up strength.
The wreckage came into view as he crested the ridge. It lay in a smoking furrow carved through the snow, the white ground blackened and melted around it. There was no sign of life, just a fading column of black smoke against the pale sky.
He approached cautiously, staying downwind. The ship had broken into several pieces but enough remained that he could see it was a trading vessel, undoubtedly bound for Port Eyeja and most probably not a threat. If any offworlders had survived the crash, they wouldn’t last long, especially with the approaching storm.
The stench of the crash was overwhelming this close. His sensitive nose could pick out dozens of chemical compounds, most toxic, all wrong. He growled with disgust, tempted to leave, but circled the wreckage instead, scanning for movement, for any sign that someone had survived.
As he completed his circuit, a new scent caught his attention—faint beneath the chemical reek but distinctly organic. Alive. His nostrils flared as he analyzed it. The acrid scent of fear.
But there was something else there too, something he couldn’t immediately identify. Something that distracted him from his anger at the way the wreck had despoiled the land and roused his curiosity instead. He followed the scent away from the wreckage, his hunter’s instincts fully engaged. The wind was picking up, already beginning to erase traces from the snow, but he had beentracking game for most of his life and he caught what others would miss—a depression here, a slight disturbance there.
Finally he found actual footprints in the valley at the bottom of the ridge—shallow impressions in the snow, already half-filled by the wind. He crouched beside one, his massive hand dwarfing the mark. The stride was short and uneven, the pattern showing a stumbling gait. Whoever had left these tracks was small, weak, and likely injured.
He straightened, lifting his gaze to follow the trail as it disappeared into the gathering gloom. The coming storm would erase these tracks completely within hours. Whoever had left them would not survive the night—not in the temperatures that would come with the darkness.
His first instinct was to turn away. Offworlders brought nothing but trouble. Their ways were not his ways, their problems not his concern.
But the thought of a small creature, alone and afraid, freezing to death in his territory made him hesitate. The sweet undertone to the scent tugged at something deep within him, something he had thought long dead.
His sister’s face flashed before his eyes—her smile, her trust, her absolute faith that her big brother would always protect her. The memory brought the familiar crushing weight of guilt, the knowledge of his failure.
He had failed her. But perhaps…
With a growl of frustration at his own weakness, he turned away from the wreck. The tracks led northeast, toward the broken lands where the mountains gave way to a maze of ice canyons. The worst possible direction in a storm.
He began to follow, his clawed feet making no sound as he took up the hunt once more—though what he would do when he found his quarry, he didn’t know.
The light was fading fast, the temperature dropping with it. The wind carried the first heavy flakes of the coming storm, and the scent of the offworlder grew fainter with each passing minute.
He quickened his pace. He had to find her before the full force of the storm hit.
CHAPTER FOUR
The cold was a living thing, gnawing at Yasmin’s skin. She pulled the cloak tighter, trying to keep the icy wind out, but there were gaps at the neck and around her legs and the wind found its way inside, blowing across her bare skin and leaving her shivering. She had never felt cold like this, never known that the wind could cut through clothing and skin, leaving her feeling as if her very bones were frozen.
She’d fallen as soon as she left the ship, slipping on the ice that had formed when the crash had melted the snow, only to have it turn to ice again, and tumbled down the hill. Shivering, she climbed to her feet. The fall hadn’t hurt her—the deep snow had cushioned her landing—and after she brushed off the snow she was surprised to find she wasn’t as cold as she expected. Despite its thin material, the cloak provided a surprising degree of warmth.
She looked back up the hill. The wreck was a dark gash against the white landscape, a plume of black smoke rising over it. She thought she could still hear faint yelling from inside, but she wasn’t sure. For a moment she hesitated, but the memory of thecaptain’s face strengthened her resolve and she started walking away.
She had no idea where she was going—she just knew she had to get away from the ship. She decided to follow the narrow valley she had fallen into, putting as much distance as she could between herself and her captors. Each step was a battle against the deepening snow. Despite the boots, her feet soon went numb. She moved them mechanically, by memory rather than sensation.
The light began to fail, and the snow started to fall more heavily. Soon, she could barely see more than a few feet in front of her. The wreck, her only landmark, was completely obscured by the swirling clouds of snow.
Her thoughts drifted as she walked. She remembered her apartment—the warm glow of the lamp beside her couch, the familiar scent of the sandalwood candles she always burned while working on her jewelry designs. She saw her workbench, and her latest project—a spiderweb of delicate silver wire accented with tiny gems.
That life felt impossibly distant now, as if it had happened to someone else entirely. A character in a book she’d once read, perhaps. Not her.
The wind shifted suddenly, driving snow directly into her face. She turned away from it instinctively, changing course without realizing. It didn’t matter. There was no destination, no plan beyond simple survival. And even that goal was beginning to seem like a fantasy.
“Keep moving,” she whispered to herself, the words immediately torn away by the wind. “Just keep moving.”
Her legs grew heavier with each step. The snow seemed deeper here, or perhaps her strength was simply failing. The cold had worked its way into her bones, a deep, penetrating ache that made every movement an exercise in willpower. The wind sliced through every gap in the cloak, every opening of the flimsy white shift beneath. Each gust stole her breath away, replacing it with air so cold it burned her lungs.
She stumbled, her foot catching on something hidden beneath the snow, and fell forward, hands outstretched to break her fall. The impact drove what little breath remained from her lungs. For a moment, she lay there, face pressed into the cold, her body a distant, unresponsive thing.
“Get up,” she told herself. “You have to get up.”
It took a monumental effort to push herself to her knees. Her arms trembled with the strain, and when she finally regained her feet, the world swam before her eyes. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision.
