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The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet. Finn staggered backward, tightening his arms around the small bundle pressed to his chest. The bear cub whimpered, pressing its small head against his shoulder, shivering as the brittle ice groaned beneath them. The stars above were hidden by dark clouds that raced across the sky, and a bitter wind lashed against his face, cutting through his beard. It had been hours since he’d heard the cub’s first cries, faint and desperate as they echoed through the forest near his cabin. He’d tried to ignore it, thinking that nature had a way of sorting itself out. But as the night grew darker, the cries had only grown louder, more desperate, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d grabbed his coat, slipped his boots over woolen socks, and set out into the snowy woods. With each step, he’d fought his own mind as much as the cold. Anxiety gnawed at him—fear of the dark, fear of what might be out there, fear that the night would twist his mind again, draw him into another episode of panic or depression. But the sound of the cub’s cry cut through his thoughts like a single, sharp beam of light. It had been his one focus as he stumbled through the snow. He had finally found the cub alone, huddled beneath a fallen tree, shaking and lost, its big brown eyes wide with confusion. The mother bear was nowhere to be found. She was probably hurt somewhere or dead, he had told himself as he picked up the cub and felt it press close to him, warming his chest. Now he was here, on the ice, with the cub. He could feel his heart racing, panic crawling up his spine as the ice crackled, splintering further with each shift of his weight. He was so close to the edge, to solid ground. Just a few more steps, and he could be safe. He held the cub tighter, gritting his teeth, hoping his weight would hold. Just a few more steps. Then, without warning, the ice gave way. They plunged into the water, the shock of it slicing through his body like a knife. The lake’s freezing depths enveloped him, heavy and numbing. He gasped, cold water filling his mouth, choking him. The cub let out a strangled cry, clinging to his chest, but he could barely hold on, his arms stiffening with the cold. He kicked frantically, trying to reach the surface, but his movements were sluggish, his limbs heavy. He felt the cub slip, drifting from his grip, and a wild panic surged through him. He’d come so far, risked so much, and now—now he was going to die here, lost in the depths of this dark, frozen lake. Memories began to flicker through his mind, images of his cabin in the woods, the nights he spent by the fire, alone with his thoughts, his fears, his dreams. He saw his own face, pale and tired, reflected in the cracked mirror above the sink. He saw himself sitting by the window, watching the snow fall, wondering if he’d ever find a reason to feel whole again. Then, a strange vision filled his mind, vivid and surreal. He wasn’t holding a cub anymore. His arms were empty, wrapped around nothing but a thick, rough log. He felt his heart sink, doubt creeping into his mind. Had he imagined it all? The cries in the forest, the lonely cub, the rescue—it all seemed like a dream, a twisted fantasy spun by his tired, restless mind. He was nothing but a fool, lost in his own hallucinations, caught in the grip of some delusion that had led him to this frozen, watery grave. A rush of anger welled up inside him—anger at himself, at the emptiness that had driven him into the forest, at the thoughts that had plagued him for as long as he could remember. He fought against the icy water, kicking with every ounce of strength he had left, reaching blindly, his hand scraping against something rough and solid beneath him. A faint warmth spread through his fingers as he struggled to hold on, his mind slipping further into darkness. And then, from the depths of the lake, something massive moved. He couldn’t make sense of it at first, his vision blurring as his lungs screamed for air. A shape loomed beside him, large and powerful, a shadow in the icy water. He felt a powerful force lift him, pushing him toward the surface, guiding him up, and he broke through, gasping for air, his lungs burning. Beside him, the water rippled, and he caught a glimpse of deep, dark eyes, a muzzle covered in thick, wet fur. It was the mother bear, her massive paw bracing him, her strength steadying him as she nudged him and the cub toward the edge of the ice. He crawled out of the water, shivering violently, his hands trembling as he reached for the cub. The bear’s massive form stood beside him, watching him with a strange, calm intensity. For a moment, he met her gaze, feeling a connection he couldn’t explain—a silent understanding that went beyond words, beyond fear. The mother bear turned and nudged the cub gently with her nose, guiding it back toward the forest. She glanced back at him once, her dark eyes reflecting the pale light of the moon, and then she disappeared into the trees, the cub trailing behind her. Finn lay on the ice, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding. He was alive. Against all odds, he had survived. The lake stretched around him, silent and still, as if it held no memory of the struggle that had taken place beneath its surface. As he lay there, staring up at the dark sky, he felt something shift within him, a small flicker of warmth that pushed back against the cold. He had come so close to the edge, to the darkness that had haunted him for so long. But tonight, he had found something else—a reason to keep going, a reminder that there was still life within him, a strength he had forgotten he possessed. He closed his eyes, letting the silence of the night wash over him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt the faintest hint of peace.

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Echoes in the Cold

GretaGabor

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Echoes in the Cold

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Julianne

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