Chapter 8: The Beautiful Stranger
Lydia knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she reached for his wrist. His skin was cold, almost lifeless. She pressed two fingers on the inside of his wrist and closed her eyes. A faint pulse. Slow. Weak. But there.
"You’re alive," she whispered, voice cracking.
She tried to lift him, pushing her hands under his arms. He didn’t move. His body was too heavy, and she was too small. She tried again. Nothing. Her arms gave out, and she fell to her knees beside him.
"Wait here. I’ll get help. Just hold on," she whispered, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her.
Lydia stood, ran to her horse, and mounted quickly. She gripped the reins tightly and urged the horse forward. The night air stung her face. The forest path was narrow and dark, but she didn’t stop. Daria had mentioned a house nearby. A couple who lived by the edge of the woods.
Minutes passed like hours until finally, she saw a small wooden house with smoke rising from the chimney. She pulled the reins, jumped down, and ran to the door. She knocked hard.
The door opened.
A woman, Mira with strong eyes and a red scarf stood there. "You must be Lady Lydia," she said. "Daria told us you might come."
"Yes, please—he’s hurt. He’s dying. Please help me! There’s a man in the forest. He needs help!"
Her husband, Pavel came from behind her. He was broad and tall, with grey in his beard. The woman grabbed a cloth. The man took his coat.
"Lead us," he said.