Firelight flickered in the eternal gloom, bringing shadows to life upon the two faces sitting, huddled against the cold, around the fireplace. The mist of their breath caught the light, and each was momentarily wreathed in a halo of light before it disappeared into the darkness, again, again. They breathed. There was nothing else left to do.

            Closest to the fire was huddled Stern, a young man still, though he no longer looked it. His hair was black, peppered with gray, and sat unkempt on a head that obviously hadn’t been washed for days. He stared into the dancing flames and warmed his hands. They trembled slightly, though he didn’t notice it. He saw only the flames, felt only the heat, almost too hot to bear, but he didn’t move away. He refused to move. He moved for no man.

            Seated on a chair behind and to the left of Stern was Robbins, a portly fellow in his mid-thirties. The chair was pointed toward the fire, but Robbins sat askance. The heat warmed his cheek and his hands, folded almost nonchalantly on his leg. They didn’t tremble, but whether it was because he truly didn’t care, or because he simply hid it well, only Robbins at that moment knew. One of his hands moved slowly up to his face. He stroked his moustache rigidly, mechanically. It was an old habit, one he had tried to break often and unsuccessfully in the past. His hand froze suddenly, and he grunted in surprise and irritation. His eyes moved from the vague shadows to the side of the fireplace and watched his hand fall to his lap again. “Stern?” His voice cut through the air, a hint of irritation tingeing its usual tone.

            Stern’s eyes didn’t move from the flames. “What?”

            “What are we going to do?”

            Stern stared into the light for a long, silent moment. Finally, he turned his head to stare the older man in the eye. He smirked. “Do? What the hell do you think we’re going to do? We’re going to sit here.”

            Robbins turned his gaze away, back to the flickering shadows next to the fireplace. He was obviously nervous now. “But…shouldn’t we…go…somewhere?”

            Stern laughed. It was a cold, mirthless, ironic thing. “Where? Where do you think we should ‘go?’” He emphasized the last word, twisted it. Robbins faced him again. His face seethed with sudden anger.

            “I don’t know, ok!? I’m here! I’m just like you! I’m stuck here! But at least I’m not ready to give up! I…” His anger disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he looked down at his hands. His right hand twitched, and he growled with frustration.

            Stern turned back to the fire. His voice was a whisper, merging with the hiss of the fire. “You’re wrong. I’m not like you. I haven’t given up. It’s you that’s given up. Look at me. Do I look…afraid?” Another mirthless laugh. “If you could see yourself in a mirror now, man…then you’d who’s really given up.”

            Robbins stood suddenly, violently. He screamed from rage, from frustration, from the indignity of the situation, and staggered toward Stern. The other man stood to meet him.

            “Stop.” The command came from across the room. Both men froze in surprise. They hadn’t heard their companion speak in hours. They turned to look at the source of the voice. He stood next to a window, opposite the fire, gazing out at the frozen landscape. He was wreathed in shadow, and they could see nothing but a vague outline. Outside it was dark; the clouds obscured the moon, though the snowstorm had finally stopped. “You have enough problems without fighting each other. This is both your faults.”

            Collins turned his attention fully to the man: “Oh, that’s convenient! So it’s not your fault, of course. I should have expected this. You’re worse than Collins.”

            “My fault? You would say so, of course. But have you stopped yet to think about why? God knows you’ve had enough time.” He had turned his head to face them now, and they saw the glimmering firelight faintly reflected in his eyes. “But I can see that it’s hopeless. I won’t convince you of anything. Sit down, both of you. Go back to whatever it was you were doing.” The disdain was obvious in his voice.

            Both of the other men looked incensed now. Stern replied sarcastically, “Ok, right. And we’ll let you go back to all the important things you’ve been busy doing, if that’s fine with you.”

            The other man turned back to the window. Minutes passed, until finally Stern shook his head and sat back down, facing the fire again. Collins remained standing for a few moments longer, and then sat down in his chair, facing the darkness next to the fireplace again. “Bloody hypocrites,” he whispered, just loud enough for the the sound to carry across the room.

            The man standing next to the window smiled with genuine mirth, but didn't turn away from his vigil. The clouds had broken, and now the moon shone down upon the coat of fresh snow covering the ground, the trees, everything. His eyes scrutinized the border of the clearing, searching for something. “Destiny” he mumbled under his breath. The minutes passed slowly. Suddenly, he turned away from the window, back toward his companions. They hadn’t moved since their argument. They hadn’t felt anything yet, hadn’t felt the cold touch of fate pulling at them. “It won’t be long now” he whispered. Both men turned to face him.

            “What?” said Stern

 “What do you mean?” whispered Robbins.

A crash sounded somewhere in the cabin, followed by a low growl. The front door. The man picked up a scythe that had been leaning against the wall and stepped from the shadows. “Destiny,” he said.