"Alex-"

"Quiet," he hisses.

"Yeah, but-"

"Laurens, listen!

"What?"

"If you value your life, you'll shut the fuck up."

Gnashing their teeth and yellow eyes glowing, the pack of four slinks through the edelweiss brush. Knowing that one little slip could expose them, the frozen men hold their poses: crouched behind the snowbank.

They can barely breathe, the two keep shaking. Unbearably cold. Miles from home. Completely soaked. Now, this mess?

'God', Alex thinks, 'Can we go back yet?'

He wipes stringy, damp auburn hair from his eyes as he spies the beasts. That's when-

"Hhhrruht'Schuh!"

Laurens fails to muffle a sneeze.

Hamilton flails, "Seriously?!"

John opens his mouth, but his words fade out.

"Alexander," his eyes grow wide, "Look out!"

He whips around and kicks a grey wolf in the snout. Two more wolves are quick to lunge to him from the south side. He's alarmed to find the horse forcefully kick them with her hind legs.

"Atta girl!" Hamilton remarks, unsheathing a sharp blade from his pocket (though he wishes he had a gun and a bullet to cock it with).

With his knife, Alexander slices the feral canines thrice. He slings their bodies into the icy water.

He smirks, "'Thought that'd be a lot harder."

"Alexander, quick!"

He jumps at the call to find a heinous sight. There, a vicious bite in his steed's leg. The pack leader gnaws, pawing at the horse's pink flesh with serrated claws. He pauses only once to unhinge and snap back his jaws. Crimson blood becomes a water color as it coats the white snow. He can hear the snapping bones. The wolf's covered in the thick, maroon substance from head to toe.

"Alright", Hamilton snarls, "Enough with the show."

He scrapes the alpha's cornea with a twig.

"Yeah, that's right," he screams, "Go fuck around with some little pigs!"

A tiny whimper echoes as the lone canine scampers off.

Pointing to the hill, Laurens cries, "We've gotta head to the top."

Like the whipping wind's chill, Laurens and Hamilton travel uphill. John, leading the charge, turns back to find Alexander gently pushing the horse from behind. Whinnies of pain of the wounded animal begin the strain.

"Shhh," Hamilton hushes, petting her mane, "It'll all be okay."

Through the struggle of the literal uphill battle, the band of ragtag rebels huddle as the ground levels off at the top. Laurens rustles with his wet curls and clutches his stomach in an effort to hold back a hurl. Hamilton's shape is not much better: a fire burns in his chest, his lungs start to protest as he expectorates and wretches.

'All things considered,' he ponders, 'Things turned out better than I'd figured.'

John shudders and hugs his arms, "W-whadda we do? We can't ride her with that leg… th-there's no way she can move."

"N-not with us on her back," Hamilton replies, rubbing the steed's muzzle.

Laurens cocks his eyebrow, visibly puzzled.

"Huh?"

"Sh-she can walk on three legs."

"You're shitting me."

"Look, she's trying."

"Alexander"

"Sh-she'll be fine-"

"Alex, she's dying."

Though clumsy at first, the mare attempts at striding. She hobbles a bit and sort of dances around… until she smacks down to the powdery ground.

Alexander wastes no time. He bolts over to the steed's side. Laurens watches from a distance, his eyes start to glisten. John can't see his face, as Alexander has his back turned. Yearning to help the poor, wounded thing who lies before him suffering. He bows his head to finally embrace the truth that stares him in the face.

"This horse is not gonna get better. Especially in this weather."

John watches Alexander clutch a large, jagged rock. He turns his head in shock at the sound of Alexander's grunt. The brunt of his full force coming down…

One last whinny sounds.

John looks up. Hamilton's shoulders are jolting up and down. Deep sobs are being muffled in the knuckles of his hand. After a minute, he rises from the ground without a qualm. He seems oddly calm as he walks over to his trembling friend. His violet eyes are teary and red.

"C-c'mon," Alexander mumbles, "W-we'd better start walking."

"Alexander-"

"Laurens, goddamnit, please stop talking."

They shudder and convulse. Their depleting pulses stutter as skies are getting bleeker: all the time, both growing weaker. With each trudge through the frigid sludge, snow rises up past their knees. Three feet deep, being smacked in the face by sleet and wind. Their breathing is shallow and thin: struggling to take air in.

Flexibility is their new underrated ability: aching biceps, locked knees create more uncertainty for their survival. As he shuts his eyes, Hamilton tries to picture the sweetness of their arrival. He sees a warm fire, glowing orange - growing stronger as he pokes the pyre. Wrapped in a wool blanket, his feet in a tub of some scalding water.

"Agh!"

Violet eyes fly open, hearing his comrade hollar.

His stiff neck cranes around. Snow blinds him, but he finds a tiny line of vision. He sees Laurens grimace. He's clutching the wound on his skull. Not just that - he's starting to fall.

"Oh n-no, y'd-don't!"

Hamilton dashes to the weak man's side. Using the strength of his pride, he slings John's arm across his throbbing shoulder blades.

Distress is painted on Alexander's face.

'I gotta get him home before it's too late.'

With double the weight strapped on his load now, Hamilton trudges through the storm. How he manages to go, he barely knows now. He feels more frozen sweat sticking to his brow. He's unsure of how much farther his body can allow him to travel. The twenty-year-old rattles as another gust of wind slashes at the pair of stragglers. Any other man would have been shattered: though bruised and battered, he manages to put one foot in front of the other. He glances at his brother in arms.

His freckled face is strangely calm. John's eyes, though unfocused, seems to stay open and wander. They go upturned when he sees Alexander.

"A-a-alex-"

"Shhh," Hamilton insists with a smile, "It's alright. You just rest for a while."

John nods his head. His eyes shut.

"J-john?"

"Mhm?"

"Y-you have to st-stay up," Alexander states, his hoarse throat burns, "A-at l-least 't-til we r-return."

Laurens nods again, still grinning at his friend. Hamilton squints his eyes ahead.

"Wh-what the Hell?" he whispers.

'Are we dead?'

Before him, he finds a swirly, snowy vortex. Behind its image, a blinding light pierces its vision. It stings him in the blackness of night.

'What? No, that can't be right.'

"Alexander…"

A soft, angelic voice whispers his name.

"Wh-wha-?"

"Shhh," it calls back, "It'll all be okay."

Such a familiar tone, it calls him back to times gone old. When he wasn't so bold… Back when he was always cold. Back with someone who used to hold him.

Cold.

Numb.

Cold.

Numb.

Before him, as bright as the morning sun, she stands before him with her arms spread wide. In her stride, she strokes his steed who stands right by her side. Her smile is wide. Arms beckoning for him to come inside. Hamilton can't help but cry.

Because he knows it's not time.

"N-not yet," he sighs, "Not yet."

She bows down

She kisses her boy's cheek.

~"Wake up. You cannot fall asleep."~

With a start, he jolts up. Snow falls from the top of his head.

'I'm not-'

His heart nearly stops. He almost drops Laurens on the spot. There's a slackness in his jaw. He knows exactly who he saw.

"Alexander!"

Again, a voice calls his name.

"M-mother," he can barely whisper, "N-not again."

"Alexander! John! Where have you gone?!"

The forceful, phantom voice prompts Hamilton on.

He shakily rises, clutching Laurens' side to lift him.

"H-here," he hobbles over to the missionary men.

Thick snow masquerades their vision so much, it hurts. It is Hercules Mulligan who spots them first.

"General! There!" cries the tailor's apprentice.

Bands of horses gallop as a unit towards the two men. Lafayette scoops up Laurens. Washington claims Hamilton.

"I-I-"

"Shhh. Easy, it'll be alright, son."

He removes his own cloak to shield Alexander from the elements. Washington turns to his troops.

"Onward. Back to camp."