Your Human and You: A Man of Iron

by Narlepoax III

Rating: mature
Tags: Slice of Life, Dark, Alternate Universe, Human, Main 6, Applejack, Gore, Apple Bloom, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Sex, Big Macintosh
Length: 5725

Set in the same universe as "Your Human and You". Dominic Alverson must find a way to live in a world where humans are no more than beasts and property.

~Now Featuring a revamped beginning!~

What if a human were to be transported to a world where humans are only beasts? What if that human was exceptional in every way, from the beasts there? What if the human was bought by a farmer who owns over fifty of these humans? What if the human had no way to communicate?

This is what has happened to Dominic Alverson. He was pulled from his life on earth, into a land of misanthropic ponies. He has absolutely no way of communicating with these pony overlords, and they seem to care little about him. Even if he could talk, none of them seem to want to listen.

Set in the same universe as "Your Human and You", by the incredible MadMaxtheBlack.

Dark tag is there for a reason. Dom is gonna get pulled through some shit.

Published 2014-01-18 07:30:05 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-18 07:30:05 UTC

Temperature Shock

Author's Note

Attention: This chapter is a placeholder. I am currently in the process of completely rewriting the story. When I am finished with that, this chapter will be permanently removed.

Proofread by: MadMaxtheBlack, GordonFreebrony.

Edited by: Permanent Temporary

Temperature Shock

The alarm blared loudly, shattering the silence of the early morning. I groaned and knitted my eyebrows, as I was unceremoniously pulled from my once-peaceful slumber. I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in my pillow, trying to ignore the klaxon wailing from across the room.

I had positioned the alarm clock on the opposite side of the room from my bed, assuring that I had to physically get up to turn it off. That was probably the wisest decision I had ever made. Waking up was easily my least favorite part of every day. I can and have slept in for hours, whenever given the chance.

I groaned, as my sleep-addled brain realized that laying under my sheets would not stop the piercing cacophony from continuing.

I returned to my position on my back, and blearily glared over at the desk that held the screeching device. The flashing numbers on the hated appliance showed that it was 7:00 AM. It sat under a curtained window, through which early-morning summer light peeked. Sunbeams made their way through any gap in the curtain available, landing on walls and moderately lighting up the room.

I threw the covers off my lethargic body, and rolled off of the bed onto my feet. Blearily, I stumbled over to the desk that held the damned noise-maker, and slapped the snooze button with as much vigor as I could muster. Without taking my hand off the alarm clock, I slid my thumb over to the reset button, and set the alarm to sound again tomorrow.

“Fuck mornings,” I grumbled, rubbing the gunk out of my eyes, “What good are they?”

I staggered to my bedroom door, opened it, and immediately turned into the bathroom just next door.

After relieving myself, I went back to my bedroom, and flopped down onto the office chair sitting in front of my desk, and just sat there for a while. I could never just wake up. I always needed ten minutes or so, to get used to the novelty of not being asleep. I couldn’t stand the taste of coffee, either. No matter what kind of flavoring or sweetener was added, I still hated the stuff. I was basically left high and dry, forced to tough the fatigue out.

I kept my eyes tightly shut and began stretching my tight limbs and torso, pulling the sleep out of my muscles. As I did so, I made sure to pop every joint, to maximize flexibility. By the time my body was ready to be awake, my brain was as well. I smacked my mouth, and pulled myself from the comfort of my chair. Since I was already there, I decided to draw my curtains open.

I looked through the window over the wonderful LA skyline. The smog marred the blue of the sky, but the city still looked gorgeous. Raised roads crisscrossed over the highways, little cars making their ways to and fro the various places they needed to be. I couldn’t see any skyscrapers from this angle, but the smaller buildings still held the big city spirit. I looked fondly at my city for a good five minutes, letting myself get lost in the streets from far away.

But I was wasting time. I needed to get ready for the day ahead of me. I turned around to face the door, and made my way to the dresser near it. I picked up the hairbrush that sat on top, and dragged it through my red hair.

I was very fond of my natural hair color. In dark lighting, it looked like blood. In bright lighting, it looked like fire. I glanced over to the mirror hanging on the wall by the door, and took note of my hair’s length. It was getting in need of a cutting. Tomorrow was Saturday, and my day-off. I’d see about getting one then, so long as nothing came up.

Another great thing about my hair was the way it played off the green in my eyes. They weren’t a full-on green, more a hazel, but the red of my hair accentuated the green very well. I looked quite a sight, when I let my hair grow out, and my beard come in. Unfortunately, I really disliked having long hair and beard. It was just too much hassle to be worth dealing with.

Figuring that my hair was well enough ordered, I returned the brush to it’s place on the dresser, making sure that it was symmetrically aligned with the rest of the nicknacks. I pulled out the top drawer, stripped the pajamas from my body, and threw them into a crumpled pile in the drawer. I closed the drawer, and pulled open more drawers, fishing out a thin long-sleeve t-shirt a pair of jeans, and some crew-length socks. Traditional summer wear would have dictated cooler clothes, but my work as a blacksmith made covering my body a priority.

Staying slightly cooler was not worth gaining third degree steel burns.

Happy with my appearance, I opened the door to my bedroom, and stepped out. The hallway was short. The master bathroom sat directly to my right, and an unoccupied bedroom that I used for my brewery sat in front of me. I walked down the hall, and turned left into the entertainment room.

The entertainment center sat on my right, situated on the wall in front of my big leather couch. To the left, the matching love seat was pressed against the wall that separated the rest of the house from the stairwell. The entire second floor was mine.

Well, considering I lived alone in my own house, the whole property was mine. Still, while the rest of the house could be used to entertain guests, the upper floor was only meant for me. Everything from the TV, to the game consoles, to the furniture, to the computer in my study was arranged specifically for my tastes.

I made my way through the entertainment room and entered the stairwell, making my way down to the first floor. Once there, I crossed the sitting room into the kitchen; where I made a quick breakfast of a large blueberry muffin, and a glass of milk.

With the most important meal of the day finished, I began making the least important. A nice deli roast beef sandwich, a small bag of sour cream and cheddar Ruffles, and bottle of my best home brew.

On the subject of home brew…

I quickly made my way back upstairs, crossed the entertainment room, and opened the guest bedroom. The angels’ share made itself very evident, and I quickly inspected each of the three carboys I kept fermenting in the dark. I couldn’t see any leaks, though I was slightly excited to see that the fourth carboy had finally started bubbling.

I had begun to worry that I’d have to start over on that one.

Satisfied with my beer, I exited the brewery, closed the door, and went back to the kitchen. I noted the clock on the microwave, once I got there. 7:28. Time to go to work.

I bagged my lunch and carried it to the car. It sat in the garage, just a regular old black 4-door. I wasn’t really wealthy enough to afford anything better, after the house. I got in and placed the bagged meal into the passenger seat, being careful with the glass bottle inside. My car may not be a luxury vehicle, but she didn’t need a beer to explode all over her upholstery.

I keyed the engine, and switched the radio over to my favorite station. I knew they did the forecast right about now, and it would be good to know exactly what kind of heat my clothes would be unsuited for. I just caught the last half of “If I Had a Million Dollars”, by Barenaked Ladies, as I set out down the road.

“Man, that was a bit of a blast from the past, wasn’t it? I remember the radio playing that song when I was just a little kid,” the radio host said, “We’re on a bit of a nostalgia trip over here, so if you don’t want to listen to music from the nineties, you’re gonna have to call in and request something.”

I snorted, shaking my head in derision. “Kids these days,” I grunted, in my best old curmudgeon voice, “They wouldn’t know old music if it bit them on the ass.” That song had been on the radio when I was sixteen.

It was still a good song, though.

“We’ll give you guys the weather soon, but first, a word from our sponsors.”

As I made my way to the freeway, I listened to ads about various household products. Air fresheners, toilet scrubbers, stuff like that. Eventually, the host came back.

“Well, I suppose that’s enough of milking the money cow,” he said, playing a cash register sound effect for punctuation, “How’s about we talk about how the sun is going to abuse us today? Looks like we have a high of 95, with a small chance of rain. Good day to go tanning, if you’re into that kind of thing. It’s gonna be even hotter tomorrow, with a high of 97. That trend seems to be one that we’re stuck with, unfortunately. 100 on sunday and monday, and 105 on tuesday,” The sound of glass shattering played in the background, “Whoops, there goes the thermometer. Oh well, at least we start cooling off just a smidge after that. Rain is coming in for wednesday, with a high of 88. That rain’s gonna keep with us for the rest of the week, with 87 on thursday, and 90 on friday. Don’t like that kind of weather? Well, that’s what you get for being living in California during the hottest season of the year.”

The radio host’s good natured jab was enough to keep me from groaning aloud, when I saw the gridlock on the freeway.

“Big cities. Ya gotta love ‘em,” I muttered to myself.

“Alright guys, I think that’s a long enough break. Time for some music. Up next, we’ve got “Walkin’ on the Sun”, by Smash Mouth.” As the eponymous song played, I cinched up to the car in front of me.

“Might as well get comfortable”, I said, “I’m gonna be here a while.”

...~~~***xXOXx***~~~...

“God damn it, that was bad,” I thought, as I drove into the parking lot in front of my store, “Thank fuck I wake up two hours early, because I needed them today.”

I sighed and grabbed my lunch, before getting out of the car. I looked over to my store, as I made my way towards it. It was a fairly small building. It used to be a small auto shop, but I had renovated it into a smithy. The words “Burning Steel” were affixed in bold black letters next to the door.

I unlocked the door and entered. I looked around the front shop, to make sure everything was still the same way it had been last night. Swords and decorative items covered the walls. Knives, helms, and cutlery sat behind the glass counter, a door to my forge behind that. Four suits of armor stood on racks, one in each corner. Having assured that no thieves had visited my humble store in the night, I glanced over to the clock mounted above the counter.

8:34.

I’d been in that traffic for an hour. I only live fifteen minutes away, and it took an hour. I should have just walked.

Grumbling more obscenities under my breath, I made my way into the back, where my forge was. I poured in a quarter of a bag of coal, and lit the forge to get ready for the day. With that out of the way, I went over to the mini fridge kept in the corner of the shop and deposited my lunch in it.

With the shop warming up, I opened the office in the corner, plopped my ass in front of the desk, and booted up the computer. Apples, while not really the best for gaming, were absolutely ideal for office work. The Mac I had in here wasn’t exactly the top of the market, but it was well enough suited for the work I put it to. When the machine had loaded the desktop, I opened the accounting to take a look at all the back jobs I still had.

I had so much work to do. Twelve weapon requests, some rich guy who wanted a wrought iron fence, lots of kids with ice skates that needed sharpening. That last one was always confusing to me. We operate in California. Why the hell do you have ice skates? Around here, you needed an indoor rink to skate, and getting into one of those needed money and dedication.

I closed the Job Log, and opened the finances. This one was significantly more heartening. I was well over the line for my expenses, pulling in a very tidy profit. There weren’t a lot of blacksmiths these days, and ones who relied more heavily on skill than machines were even rarer. My shop was quite notorious for it’s high quality products.

The front door’s bell ringing swept me out of my reverie. I expected that to be my apprentices. I glanced to the clock on the computer.

8:49

Yep, that’s them. I doubted anyone else would enter the store before it’s opening. I got up from the desk and walked around to the store. In the doorway stood two young men. Shane and Nick, my apprentices. They had both sought me out specifically, after I had started making a name for myself.

Nick was slightly older than Shane, and slightly shorter. Nick had the larger frame of the two, but Shane had the larger gut. They both wore glasses, and were both huge nerds in their own rights. They had become close friends after they had met through my taking them on.

“Hey, guys,” I greeted, “How’s it going?”

“Hey, Dom,” Shane answered, “I was just telling Nick about how fun the newest Assassin’s Creed is. He hasn’t played it yet.”

“What, really? Dude, you’re missing out,” I say, looking over to the man in question, “How many good games do you get to play as a pirate?”

“I’ve just never really been interested in the Creed games,” Nick defended, “I heard too much about how repetitive and boring they were.”

“Oh, come on. They’re not–” Shane started, before catching himself, “Well, I suppose that they did get a bit boring later on, but this one is really good.”

I nodded, agreeing completely with Shane’s point. Nick cocked an eyebrow, looking at me appraisingly. “I guess I could get it when the price drops a bit,” he conceded, “I just don’t want to spend sixty bucks on a game that I might not like.”

“Alright, do that. Anyway,” I said, clapping my hands together, “I’m not paying you guys to debate on video games. We’ve got a dozen swords to make before that guy needs us to start his fence on wednesday. You young’uns need some more practice with fine crafting, so how ‘bout you go make me some crossguards and pommels while I pound out some blades? I got the plans for all the swords in the office. Pick one, and make it.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Nick said.

“Sounds good to me,” Shane agreed.

“Good, let’s get to work.”

We filed into the shop and put our smithing gear on, a pair of goggles, a leather apron, and a pair of welding gloves for each of us. Once we were all kitted out, the boys immediately picked a plan and set themselves to work looking for some square bar to use in the parts that I told them to make. I myself took out a round bar of the proper size to flatten into a sword blade to match the hilt I had been working on yesterday. I cut it to the correct length with the upright saw, and dug it into the coals. Before the bar even had a chance to get warm, I heard the phone ring from the office.

“Gimme two secs, boys! I got a call!” I yelled, over the sound of the forge’s fan. Both men gave me a thumbs up, to signify that they had heard me. With myself excused, and nothing in the shop needing immediate attention, I left everything as it was. I entered the office, shutting the door behind me to mask the sounds of a busy workshop, and answered the ringing phone.

“Thanks for calling Burning Steel, this is Dom Alverson,” I said into the receiver.

“Good morning Mr. Alverson,” a young man’s voice answered, “This is Shawn Black, calling on behalf of Hercules Pictures. We’re making a film adaptation of a fantasy story by Patricia Briggs, maybe you’ve heard of the book? It’s called “Dragon Bones”.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of it,” I answered, trying to keep the quaver of excitement out of my voice. I was already pretty sure of why this man had called me, but I was afraid of getting my hopes up.

“Well, that’s too bad. You won’t really need to have read that book for what I’m about to propose, though,” Shawn said. I could feel my knees shaking, and my breath caught in my throat. Could this really be happening to me? “We need prop swords and armor for the movie, and your shop was recommended to me. Would you be interested in such a job?”

“Absolutely,” I said, hardly containing a whoop of joy, “How many swords would you need?”

“Well, we’ll need to discuss that,” Shawn said, “as well as a reasonable price. Aside from that, I’d need you to sign a contract. Would you be able to meet me, if I came over tomorrow?”

My excitement was ebbing, as my salesman side showed itself, “I’m afraid we’re closed tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind rescheduling?” I informed him.

“Of course not. When’s the next best time for you?”

“Could monday work?”

“I’m afraid we’re completely busy on monday. Would tuesday be alright?”

I opened my datebook to the bookmark set at this week, and flipped the page to next week. I looked through the days, to see tuesday completely open.

“Yep,” I say, joy returning to my face, “tuesday is absolutely fine. What time did you want?”

“How does eleven sound?” Shawn asked

“Sounds great,” I said, grinning like an idiot, “I can’t wait.”

“I’ll see you then,” Shawn replied, “Have a good day, Mr. Alverson.”

“Goodbye.”

I put the phone down, the elation I had been struggling with beginning to rise. I had just been offered a contract job to produce props for a movie! This was the kind of thing I had gotten into blacksmithing for! I had never had one of these jobs before, but I had heard tales all about how much money they pulled in, and how famous you got afterwards.

This job was going to change everything for me. I could already see the contracts that would follow. All the other studios that would want to commission my work. All the private requests I would recieve from people wanting my craft. I would be able to move into a bigger shop. I would be able to hire a secretary, to do my accounting for me. I would be able to take more time off, and hire Shane and Nick to apprentice full time. As it was, they only worked from opening ‘till lunch every other day.

I wasn’t able to keep it down any more. I had to let it out. I started hopping on the spot, laughing all the while.

“YES!” I cried, pumping my fist into the air, “FUCK YES!”

I practically skipped to the office door. I flung it open, stepping through with a wide grin.

“What’s up, Dom?” Shane asked, both he and Nick looking at me with apparent confusion.

“We just got a commission from a film company. They want us to make props for an adaptation!” I explained, my glee bubbling over into my voice.

“Hey! Alright!” Nick exclaimed, putting his hammer down to clap, “When do we start?”

“We’re going to hash that all out on tuesday,” I told him.

“Wow,” Shane said, excitement starting to shine through his face as well, “We should do something to celebrate.” At that, Nick nodded wholeheartedly, and I smiled even wider.

“That sounds like a great idea, Shane,” I agreed, “How about I get you boys some drinks over at the Winchester on sunday as a gift?”

“Alright!” Nick exclaimed, now sharing in Shane and mine’s elation.

“I’m not gonna say no to that,” Shane said, grinning from ear to ear.

I had introduced the two men to my favorite pub when they’d started their apprenticeship. They had immediately become just as fond of it as I was. They often went there together, just to hang out, and I joined them whenever I didn’t have anything important to do. There was just something about the atmosphere that we all loved. Besides, the place was built like a fortress. I was fairly certain that I could survive the zombie apocalypse in it. Especially with the namesake shotgun hanging over the bar.

“Excellent,” I said, “Let’s meet there at noon, make it a meal.”

“Thanks, Dom,” both young men said, in tandem.

...~~~***xXOXx***~~~...

“Alright guys, see you sunday,” I said, watching my apprentices leave the store.

“See you, boss!”

“Bye, now!”

The bell rang, as the door shut behind them. It was lunch time, the time my apprentices were set to leave for the day. We had had a handful of walk-in shoppers since I got the call from the film studio, and we’d each managed to complete the sword we were working on. I was just about to put up the “Out to lunch” sign so I could eat, when the door opened again, and another customer entered the store.

He was a burly man, standing just over 6 feet. He wore typical jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes. A glinting copper pendant hung from a chain around his neck, depicting a large upside-down hammer. Mjolnir, Thor’s symbol. It seemed that this man was germanic neopagan. He looked around the store, giving everything an appraising look. Interesting, as most people who entered my store had no idea what they were looking for. This guy obviously did.

When he finally spotted me behind the counter, his eyebrows shot up. I wasn’t surprised by this, it wasn’t very often that you found a man who stood significantly taller than most tall men. Not to mention that my body was just well suited to being muscular. It didn’t matter that I only worked out once a week, I was still well beyond bulky. His eyes appraised me as well, seemingly searching for something. I had seen that look before. Trained fighters gave it to me all the time.

When he had finished sizing me up, he approached, levying a greeting as he did. “Hey there. I was in town visiting family, and I heard about your store. I’ve been looking for a good quality helm for a while. Could you help me out?”

“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place,” I said, “I’m well known for making good stuff. Anything in particular you want?”

“Well, it either needs to be SCA legal, or able to be modified,” he informed me.

“Oh, the SCA?” I replied, nodding, “Yeah, I was a member for a bit. What’s your SCA name?”

“Ulrich,” The man said.

“Sounds german. Am I right?” I asked. When he nodded, I continued, “What period are you going for?”

“Fourteen hundreds,” he replied.

I immediately formed a list of suitable candidates. By the look of his clothes and the way he stood, he wasn’t going to be able to afford my most expensive helm. I discounted the really extravagant ones from my list.

“I think I’ve got just the thing for you,” I said, indicating the german style sallet helms, under the counter, “They range from four hundred dollars to five hundred. I also have an anachronistic one, for six fifty. How do they look?” The I pulled out the one I’d indicated, so he could see it properly. It was probably the best mid quality helm I had, but it wasn’t authentic in any way.

“They look great, but they’re a bit too expensive,” the man responded.

“You sure about that? We’re talking about real combat here. You don’t want to get your noggin bopped because your helm broke, I can tell you that,” I said. Might as well try to sell him the best he could afford, I could always use the money. Unfortunately, my ploy was seen through, and the man gave me a subtle sour look.

“I know,” he said curtly, “I’ve been doing this kind of thing for a while. I just don’t have that much on me.”

“Oh, I see. You want to pay now,” I said, catching on. At his nod, I asked, “How much do you have on you?”

“Just two hundred,” he said.

“I can get you something good for that much,” I told the man, “It’s in the back, though. Could you wait here, while I get it?”

“Sure,” was his response.

I put the helm back under the counter, and closed the sliding door. The man didn’t seem the thieving type, but I wasn’t going to take a needless risk and be proven wrong. When my goods were secured, I walked into the workshop and moved over to where I stored the stuff that wouldn’t fit in the front.

After a short search, I found what I had had in mind. This one was very plain, only a great helm with no embellishments, and an open face grate. With the helm in my grasp, I returned to find the man looking at the one-handed longswords I kept above the counter.

“Here it is,” I said, “This one’s only a hundred fifty. What do you think?”

“That’s… Actually just the kind of thing I was looking for,” He said, surprised, “I’ll take it.”

“Excellent. Thank you, sir,” I said, grinning again.

The man pulled a slightly crumpled square of paper out from his pocket. “Could you ship this here?” he asked.

I took the paper and looked at the address on it. “Ohio? Wow, you’re pretty far from home. I suppose I could ship there, it’d be the furthest I’ve shipped anything.”

The man payed for the shipping now, signing a form stating that he would pay for the helm when he received it. Afterwards, he left me to put up my “Out to lunch” sign. As I went back to get my food, I thought about my SCA days. I had actually come across them out of a love for european fantasy. It had inspired an interest in medieval history, which had created an interest in medieval weapons and martial arts. What I had learned while in the SCA had actually been the driving force behind my interest in metallurgy, and had eventually led to my career in blacksmithing.

After I became a blacksmith, I never had the time I had to go to SCA events, and had eventually slipped away from the group. I had never worked for them directly, but a few of my friends still in the group had recommended me to a few private buyers. Overall, my SCA life had been the best thing I had ever done.

I sat down at the desk with my lunch and pulled out my food. I cracked open the beer and took a hearty swig. The flavor of homebrew was alway on-par with high quality beer, and this was no exception to the rule. The love of good beer, but lack of surplus funds had been what inspired me to initially learn the art of homebrewing. Love of the art was what made me keep doing it, even after I had a stable financial situation. I smacked my lips and took a bite of my delicious sandwich.

Good food, good drink, plenty of customers, good progress with my work, and a contract with a movie company.

Today was shaping up to be the best work day of my life so far.

...~~~***xXOXx***~~~...

I opened the door to my home, glad to cross the threshold after a long day’s labor. Considering I close shop at four, I always manage to beat the traffic home. With a tired grin, I made my way to the kitchen. I dropped the day’s earnings on the counter, and put the beer bottle in the bin, with all the other empty bottles. No sense letting a perfectly good bottle go to waste. I would clean the bottles when the bin got full, then refill them with more precious homebrew.

Speaking of the bin being full, it was just about time. I would clean the bottles today, but I had something to do first. I was covered in sweat, smoke, coal dust, and iron oxide. After a long and productive day’s work, I had earned a long hot shower.

I went upstairs to my bedroom, stripped down, and put my clothes in the hamper. After that, I moved to the bathroom, got in the shower, and turned the water on. After only a few seconds, warm water cascaded over my tired and grimy body.

I stood under the showerhead for a long while, allowing the hot water to wash the aches of the day away. I sang song after song, allowing my deep bass to reverberate around the small bathroom. I lathered soap and washed the filth from my skin, massaging at the fatigued muscles underneath. I relaxed as deeply as I could, while still standing.

After a while, the water grew cold, and I was forced to turn the shower off. Reluctantly, I drew the curtain open, stepping out onto the bathroom floor.

Or, I would have, if the floor were still there. Without warning, I was sent plummeting into a swirling abyss of light.

“HOLY SHIT! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I screamed, in panic.

Energy lapped at the moisture still on my skin. My hair whipped through the wind. As my screams of terror tore at my throat, I felt the flesh grow dry and irritated. Eventually, I was forced to stop screaming, out of pain. The light around me seemed to intensify, causing me to clench my eyes.

Suddenly, everything was bitingly cold. The shock of the entire situation made me barely even notice crashing into a drift of soft powdery snow. Now, the cold was burning. Immediately, I became aware of the lack of air. I struggled vehemently, trying to find purchase in the amalgamous depths. With luck, I managed to get my hands into something that was unyielding enough to push myself up.

My head broke the snow and I gasped to fill my lungs. The snow came clear up to my sternum, the shocking frigidity trying to steal what little air I could suck in. My body was already beginning to numb, shivering violently to generate any modicum heat. Even though I didn’t understand the situation, the severity of it was clear. If I couldn’t get out of the cold soon, I would die.

I decided to go downhill, reasoning that the decline would make the journey easier and quicker, hopefully enough to nullify the snow. I was dimly thankful of my exceptional height; if I were a more normal stature, I would be buried to my neck. I dug through the banks, exertion already straining my body. I stumbled down the hill, fighting to remain above the surface. Twice, I fell into the snow. Both times, I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to dig myself out again.

As I fought for my life, my condition deteriorated. Eventually, I couldn’t even feel the cold. My mind was beginning to numb like my body. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten into this situation. Why was I here? Why hadn’t I brought any clothes? My breath burned in my lungs, and my eyelids were growing heavy. I was absolutely terrified that I could see my death approaching.

“Please,” I begged, silently, “Someone, help me. I don’t want to die.”

My body gave out, and I collapsed. The snow just barely held my head above the pristine white field. My vision swam and contorted. I almost felt… warm. Maybe I would feel even warmer, if I were in that cottage, over there. The chimney released white wisps of smoke, so there was definitely a fire going.

...wait…

YES!

My energy returned to me, and I immediately restarted digging my way through the snow. The cottage was so close. I could smell the smoke coming from the chimney. Warm yellow light poured through the windows, falling onto the snow packed around the tiny cabin.

Finally, victoriously, I broke free from the deep snow, white crystals clinging to my frozen body. I fell to my knees, my raw lungs painful to fill. I could almost taste the relief of being in that tiny, warm cottage. I struggled to get back onto my feet, but immediately fell onto my belly. My legs were far too worn out to hold my weight.

Giving up on bipedal locomotion, I decided to simply drag my limp body over to the building with my arms. My front ground on the cracked ice under the thin amount of snow, but I was far beyond feeling the pain. My attention was fully focused on getting to the building. I groaned in relief, when I reached the cottage, I reached up and pounded on the wall, unable to find the door anywhere on this side.

I pounded my numb cudgel-like fist on the wood until my consciousness seceded to the cold.