She turned and went back to her room. And this time he heard the wooden latch slide firmly into place. A week later, the storm came. It was not a winter blizzard, but a violent spring squall, the kind that brought the sky down to the earth. Rain and hail hammered the roof, driven by a wind that shrieked like a grieving woman.
Thunder cracked overhead, so close the cabin shuddered. Daniel was checking the door latch when a bolt of lightning struck a pine tree on the ridge. The explosion of light and sound was simultaneous. The cabin was lit white for a second, and the crash was deafening. The door to Tyen's room flew open.
She stood there, her eyes wide with terror, her hands pressed to her ears. The storms of her childhood, the thunder of guns, the violence of men, it was all one and the same to her. "It's just lightning. Tyen, it's all right," he shouted over the wind. She ran to him, not to his chair, but to his c where he had been preparing to sleep.
She scrambled onto it and buried her face in his blankets, her body shaking violently. Daniel sighed. He sat on the edge of the cot, rubbing her back in a clumsy, paternal way. "It'll pass. It's just a storm."
"Hold me," she whimpered, her voice muffled by the wool. He hesitated, but the cabin shook again and she cried out. He slid onto the cot, pulling her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her as he would a frightened child. He was still fully dressed, his boots on the floor. He pulled a blanket over both of them.
"See, it's just noise," he said, his voice rumbling in her ear. She slowly relaxed. Her trembling subsided. They lay like that for a long time, the storm raging around them, the sound of the rain, a deafening drum on the roof. He could feel her breathing, feel the warmth of her back through his shirt.
It was a simple, profound comfort. He had not held another person in 5 years. He had forgotten what it felt like. He thought she had fallen asleep. The storm was easing, the thunder rolling away into the distant mountains.
His own eyes were heavy. Then she moved. She turned in his arms, her body flush against his, her face inches from his in the dark. "Daniel," she whispered. "It's all right.
Go to sleep." "No." She pressed her hand flat against his chest over his heart. He could feel the warmth of her palm. "I want to feel what women feel."
His blood went cold, then hot. He knew exactly what she meant. "Tyen, no." This is not "I want the warm," she insisted, her voice no longer frightened, but full of that same direct, honest curiosity. She pushed herself up, her lips near his.
"I want to know." He stopped her. He gripped her shoulders firmly and held her at arms length. She was a shadow in the dark, but he could see the glint of her eyes. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. what those men did.