Two Of Us (WW2 RusCan)

Chapter Three

     Matthew's stomach rumbled and it hurt him enough to awake him from his sleep. He tossed and turned until he realized that he wasn't just sleeping back in London again like he used to be able to before he got captured. He was sleeping on cold rock with the wind still growling and howling outside, threatening anyone who wanted to pass through it's forest.

     But yet there Matthew was. In an empty cave, in the middle of a blizzard. The man didn't return.

    When he sat up, he could feel his frozen joints crack and he could see his breath right in front of him. His neck hurt when he turned his head, his eye hurt from the day before. His muscles were sore as ever from falling on the hard floor. And from sleeping in it.

    Matthew stretched, facing the opening of the cave. Near the entrance, there was a pile of snow not too big but he could tell it would be a slight problem that he couldn't fix. He put his back against the wall of the back of the cave just watching the snow fall slightly with the occasional hail.

     He was surprised he didn't die from hyperthermia but he did know he was going to catch a cold at any hour of that day.

     "Looks like I'm not dead after all." Matthew said reassuring to himself as he put the pistol back in his belt. Sure, he was still tired but he forced himself to not fall asleep once again, for he planned on making a fire. Somehow.

    He stood, grateful he could see much better than before. He felt if the scratch was still there on his eye, it was. But it didn't sting like yesterday, it only gave him a headache.

     He stood at the entrance and held his hand out to where snow could touch it. It was by too bad to walk in but staying in the storm for more than a few minutes could definitely get someone hurt by hail.

     He took that chance.

     Matthew walked out, the cold biting him and riping his neck that showed skin. He could already feel branches beneath his feet after a few steps. He bent down, feeling for sticks through his thick gloves, gathering them in his arms to bring back to the cave. But it was difficult. The snow made it hard to see as the wind blew right in his face. He quickly made his way back to the cave, taking s moment as the felt the rocks to get back to it. Once inside, he threw the sticks onto the ground, making a small pole of snow around it.

     He kneeled, not knowing exactly how to make a fire but Alfred had talked about boy scouts so much when they were younger that some of it just stuck in his mind. If he were to make a fire, then he would have to clean off the branches from the snow.

     He sat beside where his fire was going to be and started to brush off the snow in the direction of the entrance. When he did though, sometimes he would accidentally break the scrawny branches that deserved to be called thick twigs for the type of trees in that forest.

     After he cleaned them off, brushing off any leftover snow with his glove, it then became the part where making the fire had to get involved.

     That part he did not remember.

     "How come I was never was a boy scout?!" Matthew groaned, holding sticks in his hands.

     He then tried the most simplest way to make a fire. He rubbed two sticks together. Nothing but the sheds of the dead bark from the sticks were left. No sparks. He sighed and this time, he got  two rocks from outside. He skid one over the other, having absolutely no idea what he was doing but he was desperate, he was cold.

     When he did, he saw a spark fly. One small tiny spark flying into the sheds of the dead bark which made a small pile. The spark spread with some of the shreds but it wasn't enough.