Law

The pained grunts and heavy breathing are getting to Silvan. He almost wishes the screams would come back, signaling enough energy present to still do so. His friend is getting weaker at the same pace he's realizing how helpless he is. He's nervous to the point his mind can't tell the difference between the howling of the blizzard outside and the next batch of water done heating up.

He drenches some cloth and wrings them out before removing the bloodied rags on his friend's leg. Frostbitten and broken. His previous confidence is long lost. Even the makeshift splint he was proud of hours earlier looks crude now in the flickering lights of his oven.

"Is it correct to apply hot rags onto the frostbite or will it cause more problems?" His mind is racing, panicking as he begins second guessing every move. All the while his patient's breathing becomes more shallow.

Suddenly he hears a scratching at the door. Silvan stiffens and listens. No, not now please.

"He's weak. Give him to us."

It was a single voice that sounded like many. He tracked its origins to the door while his senses told him a different truth. You're surrounded.

"The mountain does not tolerate the weak. Bring him to us. We will rid you of your burden." The scratching grew more demanding.

"Shut up! He's not a burden, he's my friend and I will fix him. Leave!" Silvan screams towards the disembodied voice.

Besides the wind rattling on the windows, it's silent.
Good he thought. Taking a deep breath.

"I need to calm down". Calm. Down. If I lose it now no one can save him.

Resuming treatment he is again interupted by the voice. This time without rationale but with a deafening howl he could only interpret as disagreement.

Silvan collapses, cupping his hands over his ears when the door flings open with mighty force, letting the freezing snow and gale in. A figure stood in the doorframe. Illuminated more by the few moonlit rays that braved the tempest than the fire holding on to dear life.

Entering slowly the figure closes the door and pulls back her hood.

Relief overcomes Silvan as he recognizes the familiar face.

"Sila! Great timing! Please help me! My friend, he is... I... what do we do!?"

A mix of bewilderment and disgust streaked across her face.

"Did you not hear the voice? I was sure you'd understand it?"

Silvan was dumbfounded.

Questions flooded his mind, the pained gasps from behind supressing them for now.

"Please, Sila. He's my friend. I can't let him die here!"

Her gaze turned cold.

"What you heard was the protector. The judge. The law governing the mountain."
"Do you understand what you're asking me to do?"

Silvan went silent. He didn't understand what she was saying. The detail he did catch was that she seems capable yet unwilling to help. He looked over at the unopened bottle of double malt whiskey that rested on the table and made his choice.

He dropped to his knees and pleaded to Sila.

"No matter the price. Save him."