Her name was Lyla Strauss.
A season of change comes in “The Lost Winter of Lyla Strauss”.
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Both
trappers did the best they could in saving Coulton’s right foot, as the
probability of him losing it was a likely conclusion beyond blooded strips of
white cloth and an improvised splint along the length of his leg.
Delirium
wafted over the stranger, as bouts of excruciating pain and slim swaths of
lucidity encapsulated this human being for almost a month. Person nursing him
back to some semblance of viability relied mostly on tinctures and potions from
Ravenswood, a shamanic healer from the Inuit tribe.
Hollister’s
condition was touch and go as he drifted into a coma during the middle of
October and was given a spiritual ceremony of finality by Ravenswood.
As
one of the trappers stayed inside the cabin around the clock keeping watch over
Coulton for the next seven days the other stayed the course of collecting,
cleaning and curing pelts for the future winter months to come.
To
normalize Coulton Hollister’s temperature since his rescue in September, a bed
had been placed in the front room of the cabin where the fireplace was located.
On
the morning of the seventh day of that vigil, sun beamed through an almost
sheer piece of fabric on the side window of the cabin and a man awakened once
more.
Coulton’s
eyes slowly opened, as a blazing flash of sunlight filled the cabin and he got
a first glimpse of life back among the living.
Beneath
a cocooning layer of varied blankets, cloths and fur swaths, this wounded man’s
arms slowly pushed them to one side of the bed as his eyes grasped for some
sight which was familiar to him.
Focusing
first upon his beard which had become overgrown, Coulton’s eyes slowly began to
blink and take in a pleasant view.
Across
the room from where he was, a nude female of slight form sat on the edge of
another bed, brushing long, brown hair with her back situated to him.
In
an awakened presence of the angel who he had thought was sent to watch over him
Coulton Hollister thought this young waif of only 13 or 14 years of age had
been the daughter of the trappers who’d recovered him from the base of that
ravine.
Focusing
his eyes upon this nude female, he realized she was more mature than being of
teen years. She was not a girl, but a woman of tender presence. Probably not
the daughter of the trapper, but a young bride of a mountain man was the
thought which filled Hollister’s mind about this beauty.
Coulton’s
labored grunt filled the air, as each footstep brought him closer to where she
sat upon the bed. Using a branch located near his bed as a crutch to stabilize
his balance, he moved slowly.
Hearing
him stir behind her, this young woman wrapped a white cotton garment around
herself in front of this stranger, “You certainly know how to scare a person,
Mister”. She spoke with an anxious smile.
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