I think I was breathing. It hurt, my body catching up with the change in temperature. Lights, red faces, hats and scarves and wool everywhere. They sat me down, unlaced my boots. My feet dislodged; my toes stubborn and black. I was too cold to shiver.
“How long you think he’s been out there?” Hands shed the layers of ice on me. I sat numb to my hours lost in darkness.
“What shall I get him? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate or…”
Blood rushed to my heart, pumping; I raised a hand. Silence. Faces craned. “Yes?”
Through a snowdrift in my throat: “Whisky. No ice.”
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